


Lead Me to the Gallows, But Don't Let Me Fall

by Hazel_Athena



Series: LMTTG 'Verse [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Ensemble Cast, M/M, perceived character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-10-28 21:17:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 70,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10839630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel_Athena/pseuds/Hazel_Athena
Summary: Sam has a sudden vision of Vasquez as he'd last seen him, laughing up against his horse while he spun one of those flashy pistols of his like he always did when he needed to fidget. Then he remembers the look on Faraday's face and the words 'I wanted to let him rest somewhere he'd like'. He shudders."We're not leaving him here," he says in a tone that allows no argument. "I won't do that to him, to either of them. We're going to find him and lay him to rest properly, the way he should have been already."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ooohhhh boy. So, this is a fic idea I've had percolating in my head pretty much since I first saw the movie, and I'm finally girding my loins and writing it down. Huge, massive, tremendous thanks to all of the usual suspects for listening to me whine and reading through bits of it over time, but especially to Kat2017 who edited this chapter and helped me work through a gigantic plot issue with the upcoming part two.

Sam doesn’t much care for the town from the moment he sets foot in it, and he can tell he’s not the only one. Red Harvest’s flat expression and Horne’s furrowed brow and short, muttered prayer are enough to tell him they don’t like the look of it any more than he does.

“We need supplies,” he points out before either of them can complain. Not that they would, they’d parted ways with the more vocal of Rose Creek’s heroes some months back, and as much as Sam might miss those reprobates at times, he can’t say he minds not having every statement he makes questioned. “And I wouldn’t say no to a night or two spent in a real bed.”

That may have worked with some of their former companions – Goody certainly, and probably Faraday – but Red Harvest isn’t much for sleeping surrounded by people he doesn’t know and Horne still prefers to make camp out under the stars, regardless of what the elements might see fit to drop on his head while he does so.

Case in point, Red merely grunts in response to Sam’s suggestion, and Horne doesn’t even do that much.

Sighing, Sam adjusts his grip on his horse’s reins and nudges the animal in the direction of the town. As they start moving once again, he turns back to look at Horne. “Why don’t you and Red stop in at the general store, and I’ll see if I can find a boarding house for us to spend the night in. Those of us who want the rooms, that is.” He adds, wanting to cut Horne off at the pass if he was going to make noise about sleeping outdoors.

Horne makes a thoughtful face and then nods. It was always a risk, bringing Red into a town like this, what with how the locals had a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later, having him and Jack run errands together was usually a smart move. “Alright, Sam,” the old man says, shifting his grip on his own reins, the scar on his hand where Denali’s arrow had punched through standing out as much as it always did, “we can do that.”

Red grunts a second time, but Sam knows him well enough to recognize a grunt of acquiescence at this point and he feels a wave of relief wash over him. It’s rare that either Red or Horne will dig their heels in when they don’t want to do something, but either man can out-stubborn just about anyone so it’s nice to know he’s not going to have to worry about that today.

He parts ways with the other two as soon as they spot the general store, leaving them to that mission while he goes off in search of a place to stay, figuring they may as well take care of both issues at the same time. The town is small, almost as small as Rose Creek had been before Bart Bogue and his men had destroyed half of it, and he soon learns that there is no real boarding house, only a decent sized saloon with several rooms for rent upstairs.

“I’m not sure you’ll want to be stayin’ there right now, though,” the local he’d been speaking to tells him. The man briefly removes the cigar he’d been smoking from his mouth and spits heavily on the ground, narrowly missing the toe of Sam’s boot as he grimaces in distaste. “Cutter’s been havin’ some problems with a fella who’s been rentin’ from him for the past couple weeks. Some damn Irishman who showed up with a chip on his shoulder.”

Sam eyes the man impassively and then very slowly drags his boot back out of range, just pointedly enough that his new friend flinches and breaks his gaze. Smiling a little, Sam nods. “My boys and I aren’t lookin’ to cause any trouble, but if this other gentleman is, why doesn’t the owner just toss him out?”

“He might now that you and your lot are here.” The man replies, scratching his chin consideringly. “Fact of the matter is though, we don’t see much in the line of business in these parts, so it’s hard for anyone to turn their noses up when it comes along.”

“Ah,” Sam says, understanding dawning. He knows how things are this far off the beaten path and he supposes he can’t fault the saloon owner for putting up with even the most belligerent behaviour if it meant a few more coins in his pocket. “Well, as it happens, I’m a member of the law. If there’s any trouble while I’m over there, I’m not above dealin’ with it.”

This time the man snorts. Taking his now finished cigar out of his mouth, he tosses it on the ground and then stomps heavily on the butt, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot. Only once that’s done does he glance back up at Sam. “The way I heard it, this one’s already had an encounter of a sorts with the town sheriff, though what about I couldn’t say. Just that he was wild about somethin’ and he’s been causing a ruckus over at the saloon most days ever since.”

“Well, thank you kindly for the heads up,” Sam tells him, remembering how Goody liked to say that being forewarned was forearmed, not that the crazy Cajun had ever spent much time taking his own advice, “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out when I’m over there. And thank you for the directions as well.”

The man waves him off with a shrug, clearly uncomfortable with Sam’s polite gratitude, and then moves to make his way back up the steps towards the seat he’d been reclining in when Sam had first pulled up. Shrugging, Sam decides to think no more of it, and sets off in the direction the man had indicated he should go to find the saloon. The thought of a drink to wash away some of the dust of the trail and cool his parched throat sounds mighty fine right about now, not to mention being able to confirm them lodgings for the night.

It doesn’t take him long to find it, and when he does the telltale sounds of a brawl can be heard carrying out into the street. Biting back a groan – he had after all been looking forward to enjoying something of a lazy afternoon – he dismounts from his horse and loops the reins over a nearby post. Once he’s sure the animal is secure and will be fine here until Sam can get him off the stables, he heads for the front entrance.

He knows that Red and Horne would tell him to stay out of it, to say nothing of what Goody would be saying if he were around right now, but it’s not in his nature to sit by if there’s a chance of innocent bystanders getting hurt. Whatever’s going on in there might very well be something as innocent as a common bar brawl, or it could be something far more sinister. He’s got to be sure.

His eyes need a moment to adjust as he steps inside thanks to the stark difference between the dim lighting of the bar and the hot glare of the afternoon sun. In fact, the difference is so striking that his sight still isn’t working well enough for him to focus on the men partaking in the brawl, so it’s by sound that he realizes he knows at least one of the parties involved.

An enraged bellow roars out from somewhere in the middle of the crowd, and Sam blinks his eyes furiously, enough that his vision clears in time for him to see Joshua Faraday lift a man bodily off the ground and slam him viciously into a table behind him. Sam’s instantly concerned, watching as Faraday doesn’t bother to stop now that his opponent appears to be down. He’s seen the other man in fights before, but usually Faraday brawls for fun, not whatever this is.

Various hands are reaching for Faraday to try and pull him off the man he’s clearly intent on pummelling into oblivion. All this does, however, is give the man more targets to aim for. He takes a swing first at one man who appears on his right and then immediately lunges at a second man once his fist has punched into the gut of his previous target.

Distantly, Sam looks around for Vasquez, wondering where the hell Faraday’s favorite minder can have gotten to while the man in question seems intent on taking on an entire bar all by his lonesome. He fails to spot him and at that point wades into the fray. There are a number of men down on the ground already, so many so that Sam suspects Faraday will take care of this without his help, but that’s only if no one hauls off and shoots him before things finish. Best to get in there and show the man has friends with him before things escalate further.

Luckily, Faraday’s too caught up in dealing with the problems he already has to mistake Sam for a new enemy, and everyone else dismisses him as a threat when he makes no move to fight them. Ducking a few wildly flailing limbs, he gets in close and shoves himself in between Faraday and the rest of the saloon patrons, which is no small feat thanks to the way the younger man is clearly intent on battering everyone in the room bloody.

“Enough,” he barks when Faraday tries to get around him and lash out at a slender man who’s top lip had gotten split open during the fight. Sam shoves Faraday back a little bit more and glares at him when it looks like his friend might just take a swing at him as well. “Settle, Faraday.”

Faraday blinks. “Chisolm?” He asks, and it’s only now that Sam realizes the man is blind drunk, to the point that the swaying of his body likely has nothing to do with the fight he’s been in and everything to do with how much alcohol he’s consumed.

Even more determined to get to the bottom of whatever’s been going on – Faraday liked to drink to be sure, but he was usually more inclined to start singing bawdy songs and be obvious when he cheated at cards than he was to get in a tussle like this – Sam gives the man a little shove towards the closest seat. “I said settle.” He repeats, not liking the way Faraday’s expression glazes over as he stumbles into the chair and lands in it with a grunt.

“Is he with you?” A muffled voice asks, and Sam turns to find the man with the cut lip glaring at him, the sleeve of his shirt now pressed up against it to try and stem to the flow of blood.

“He is.” Sam confirms, despite any evidence to the contrary.

The man’s glare intensifies, and he pulls his shirt sleeve back, revealing teeth stained with blood as he snarls, “Then I hope you’re prepared to pay for the mess he’s made of my damn establishment! This ain’t the first time he’s landed in a fight with other customers, but he’s upped his game to destroyin’ my property now.”

Sam glances around the room, his gaze taking in the handful of men still in the saloon and eventually landing on the crushed remains of the table Faraday had thrown a man into upon his arrival. The man in question was gone, having either ducked out or been taken out sometime while Sam was handling Faraday, but the wooden pieces remained. Sam sighs.

“We’ll pay for it,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks back at where Faraday’s now reaching for an unopened bottle of whiskey. Feeling the opening strains of a headache coming on, he bats the bottle out of Faraday’s reach with a firm, “No.”

The saloon owner snorts. “You’d better,” he says. “I’ve only put up with his nonsense this past little while because he paid up front for the room and spends plenty of coin on booze. That’s gonna stop if he starts ruinin’ shit.”

“I assure you, he’s not goin’ to be a problem any longer,” Sam says firmly. He watches as the rest of the locals, minus the owner slowly file out of the building. Once it’s only the two of them and Faraday remaining, he cocks his head. “There should be another fellow with him. A Mexican. Tall. A little on the lanky side. You know where he is?”

“Ain’t been nobody new in town but him,” the man replies with a shrug, and Faraday goes distressingly silent.

It’s not the awkward kind of silence, not the kind that says ‘I’m embarrassed about something and don’t want to talk about it’. No, this is something much darker, almost sinister. As Sam watches, Faraday raises a hand and tugs at something near his shirt collar, possibly adjusting the bandana he has tied around his neck.

“Faraday.” Sam says sharply. Faraday and Vasquez had been the first to separate from the main pack as they’d left Rose Creek. The two of them had decided to stick together, but weren’t ready to commit to joining up indefinitely with Sam. Goodnight and Billy had followed not long after, although Sam at least knew where they were if he had a mind to find them. He hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Faraday and Vasquez since their parting, and Faraday’s unnerving silence is sending a chill up his spine. “Faraday, where’s Vasquez?”

All he gets in response is a jerk of Faraday’s head and a refusal to meet his gaze. Growing more concerned by the minute, he gestures at the saloon owner. “You got a name, friend?”

“Cutter,” the man says after a moment or two, “Cutter Jones. Who wants to know?”

Figuring it can only help, he rambles off his usual spiel. “The name’s Sam Chisolm. I’m a duly sworn warrant officer in Wichita Kansas and seven other states. This here,” he adds, jerking a thumb in Faraday’s direction, “happens to be one of my men. Now, I don’t know what he’s been up to these past few weeks, but I can assure you you’ll be repaid for any damage he’s caused. On top of that, I’ve got two more men in town with me and we’ll all be happy to pay to rent out some more of your space.” Never mind that Horne at least probably wouldn’t use it, none of them would be going anywhere until they sorted out whatever mess Faraday’ had caused.

Cutter gives him a long look, but Sam has long learned how to wait a man out. As is almost always the case, Cutter folds before he does, drawing in on himself with a nod. “Fine,” he grits out, “but you’ll be payin’ top dollar and you’ll be replacin’ anything I say.”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to work out an arrangement that suits us all,” Sam says coolly. He doesn’t allow himself to smile when Cutter flinches slightly, but he’d be lying if he said the urge wasn’t there. He’ll cover any damages Faraday has legitimately caused and only those.

The saloon owner eyes him warily for a little longer and then nods. “I’ve got some work that needs doin’ out back. Call me when the rest of your men arrive, and we’ll see about getting you all settled.”

“Thank you kindly,” Sam replies, hoping the words sound as much like a dismissal as he means them to be.

They must because Cutter vanishes between one blink and the next, leaving Sam and Faraday alone as the door swings shut behind him. Sam watches it for a second to ensure the man is really gone and turns back to his remaining companion.

“Faraday.” He says, and the younger man flinches, hunching in on himself where he’s still lodged in the chair Sam had previously shoved him into. “Faraday, he’s gone, and I need you to talk to me. Don’t make me ask you again, son, where is Vasquez?”

Green eyes bore into his as Faraday finally raises his head, and Sam has to fight a sudden urge to take a step back. There’s not much left in this world that can frighten him, but the haunted look in those eyes is coming awfully close. “Faraday.” He says, softer now, talking like someone afraid of spooking a wild animal or frightened child. “Joshua, tell me what happened. Where is he?”

“Dunno,” Faraday admits slowly. The word comes out slurred, but the alcohol is doing little to hide the misery in the man’s voice. “Heaven if there’s any justice in the world, though lord knows he didn’t get any of that while he was alive.”

Sam sucks in a sharp breath as the fear that’s been percolating in his brain since he’d first figured out Vasquez wasn’t here is realized. A heavy pang of sorrow lodges itself in his chest and he finds himself having to sit down suddenly. He takes the seat next to Faraday, reaching out to clasp the man’s shoulder as much for his own comfort as anybody else’s.

That’s how Red and Horne find them some while later. Sam doesn’t know how much time has passed, only that they’ve been sitting here in silence for the lot of it and he’s had to repeatedly shove bottles of booze out of Faraday’s reach as they did so. One thing he’s certain of, however, is that the man is in no mood to talk yet.

Red’s stare remains as impassive as ever as he looks them over, but Horne’s forehead wrinkles in obvious concern. “Can’t say I was expecting to find you here, son,” he says, addressing Faraday with a wave of his good hand. “The gentleman we got directions from said Sam had broken up a bar fight, but he didn’t mention anything about you.”

Faraday grunts, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge that anyone has spoken.

Feeling more tired than he has in years, Sam briefly curls a hand around the man’s neck, immediately pulling it back when Faraday hisses and ducks away. Frowning, he shakes his head and stands up. He walks over to Red and Horne, ushering them further away from where Faraday’s sitting.

“I think somethin’s happened to Vasquez,” he murmurs once he’s judged them to be far enough away. He’s not going anywhere, there’s no way he’s leaving Faraday alone like this, but he doesn’t want the man hearing this conversation if it can be avoided.

“What kind of something?” Red asks. He’s frowning though, like he already knows what the answer will be.

And maybe he does, Horne certainly does if the way he crosses himself and mumbles a quiet prayer under his breath is any indication. “When?” The old man asks, after that’s done, cementing Sam’s belief that he’s followed the short conversation to its appropriate conclusion.

“No idea,” Sam admits. He nods in Faraday’s direction, noting with concern that the man seems to be struggling to his feet. “He’s barely said a word since I found him. I haven’t gotten any details yet.”

“My hearin’ works just fine you know,” Faraday barks from behind them. Looking over, Sam sees that he’s far from steady as he crosses the saloon floor towards where the three of them are clustered together. “I know you’re tellin’ ‘em about Vas. About how he’s gone. Didja tell ‘em how it’s all my fault, though? Huh? Didja tell ‘em how I got the poor bastard killed?”

“Joshua, I think you need to sit back down.” Sam insists to no avail. Faraday keeps right on coming, like he’s determined to keep moving now that he’s up. “I mean it; you can tell us what happened when you’re ready. We don’t need to know right now.”

Faraday lets out a noise too wild to be called a laugh and too  - too something Sam can’t describe to be a scream. “What happened? You want to know what happened?” He demands, missing Sam’s point by a mile and almost pitching forward onto his face as he gestures wildly at demons only he can see. Red and Horne share a concerned look, and Sam moves in in case he falls. “I already told you, _I happened_.”

“What -?” Red starts to say, but Sam cuts him off before he can finish. Whatever question the man had been about to ask, Faraday’s in no fit state to answer it.

“Let him be.” Sam says instead. “We’ll get him upstairs to his room for now. Once he’s sobered up some and calmed down a little, then we’ll see about finding out what’s taken place.”

Faraday makes another of those horrible noises and reaches for a bottle he’d dropped in the earlier scuffle. Sam moves to grab it before he can, but Horne of gets there first, moving surprisingly quickly for someone of his age and girth.

“I don’t think so, son,” he says gently, pulling the whiskey back from Faraday’s grasping fingers. “Take it from someone who knows, whatever you’re dealing with, you won’t find a fix for it in the bottom of one of these.”

Faraday drags his lips up off his teeth in a poor approximation of a smile. “You’re wrong, Jack. All I’m lookin’ for right now is oblivion, and I can find that in there sure enough.”

It’s been a long time since anything has rattled Sam to his core, but standing here in the cleared out saloon with only men he trusts at his side, the look on Joshua Faraday’s face is enough to chill him down to his bones.

He waits a beat, then another, and then one more. Licking suddenly dry lips, he takes the bottle from Horne and places it very carefully behind the bar countertop, feeling Faraday’s gaze on him all the while. Then, once that’s done, he looks first at Red and Horne and then at Faraday. “Get him upstairs,” he says finally. “We’ll do what we can for him and after that … after that, we’ll see.”

*****

Faraday wakes up with a throbbing beat lodged somewhere around his temples and no idea where he is. It seems that he's over indulged himself yet again. Damn Vasquez for not stopping him before he'd had too much. The vaquero was going to get an earful from Faraday as soon as he was sure his head was still properly attached to his shoulders.

And just like that it all comes rushing back.

Vasquez hadn't failed to keep Faraday from drinking too much. Hell, Vasquez hadn't failed Faraday at all, though the opposite certainly wasn't the case what with how Faraday had most definitely failed him. Failed him so bad he'd gotten him killed.

His breath hitching on a sob he refuses to let out, no matter how badly it wants to slip free, he gets a hand under the collar of his shirt, noting distantly that he's managed to get his vest and boots off before landing on the bed for once, as his fingers scrabble for the cord he knows is there. Finally finding what he's looking for, he lets his fingertips glide along the string until they find the disk it's attached too. 

Metal digs sharply into his palm as his hand clenches around the medallion, the sound of his own ragged breathing the only noise in the room. 

He supposes he should be relieved that last night hadn't included the usual terrors which have plagued his sleep ever since he'd arrived in this slice of hell town and discovered he'd shown up all of a day too late. In reality he's no better off without them than he is with them. Vasquez is dead either way, and Faraday has to live with that.

Or try to anyway; so far he hasn't done a very good job of succeeding. 

The medallion around his neck has gone from cool to warm thanks to the way he's clutching it, and it's only when there's a stinging sensation along his palm, one indicating he's going to cut himself if he doesn't stop, that he finally releases his grip. He twists his fingers around the cord for a fleeting moment and then tucks the whole mess back under his shirt where it belongs. This is for him and him alone to know about.

Medallion safely put away, he rolls over in the bed until he can get his feet on the floor. His head pounds even harder as the motion jars it on his shoulders and he's forced to breathe heavily through his nose for several seconds as bile rises in his throat. Only when he's positive nothing's going to come back on him unexpectedly does he begin looking around for his boots.

He finds them not far from the bottom of the bed, close enough that he only has to lean over to get them rather than stand up altogether. Vaguely impressed with himself for how he'd managed to line the pair up neatly the evening before - coordination isn't a skill he usually possesses when he's thoroughly awash in whiskey - he grabs first one and then the other and sets about putting them on.

The left boot is appropriately in place and he's fighting with the right one when a knock occurs at his door. Surprised, he looks up and casts a narrow eyed glare at the trembling wood. He's been travelling on his own ever since - well, *ever since*, so whoever' out there is no friend of his. 

Warily, he glances around until he spots Ethel and Maria, both located in their holsters where his gun belt is slung over the back of one of the room's two rickety chairs. They're too far to reach without moving, and that more than anything makes him wonder what the hell his drink addled brain had been up to last night. Even at his most blitzed, he can't recall a time when he'd gone to sleep in a strange place without his guns within reach.

While he's sitting there lost in thought like a particularly dense yokel, the doorknob starts to rattle and then the entire contraption is pushed back. Half expecting to see the little pissant from downstairs who claims to run this place, he's floored to wind up eye to eye with Sam Chisolm. 

His tongue, which is sandpaper dry and practically stuck to the roof of his mouth, doesn't want to work the first time he attempts to speak. It takes him a couple of tries and even once he's got it going all he manages is a garbled, "Sam? The fuck are you doin' here?"

Sam gives him a long look, his face as impassive as ever until he huffs out a tired sigh. Stepping into the room, he reaches out to carefully close the door behind him, leaving it so the two of them are stuck in here alone together. "I reckon that answers my question of how much you remember from yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Faraday repeats. "We saw each other yesterday?" He'd known the days had started to blur together, hell he'd wanted it that way, but even he's willing to admit it's likely not a good thing he'd been so flat out drunk he'd missed Sam dropping back into his life.

"We did," Sam informs him. He comes the rest of the way into the room and drops down into one of the chairs, taking his hat off and laying it on the table as he goes. "I pulled you out of a bit of a ruckus that I gather you caused."

Faraday shrugs, aiming for nonchalant and knowing he misses by a mile. "Hardly the first time I've done that," he says, trying to play it off, "especially when I've been drinkin'."

There's not a smile to be seen on Sam's face, not even the slightest uptick of the corners of his mouth, and Faraday feels a lead weight drop in the pit of his stomach. He may not remember what he'd said to Sam last night, but it's clear as day that he'd said something. No doubt it was something to do with Vasquez at that.

Sam's gaze is as intense as ever, and he doesn't raise his voice even a little when he speaks. "Faraday." He says simply. "Son, tell me what happened."

"I ain't your son," Faraday growls, focusing on that instead of the way the lead weight in his stomach has turned into something else, something with teeth that have set about gnawing on his insides until he's sure it'll have torn him to shreds. He does not want to talk about this. Honestly, he's not sure that he can.

"Faraday." Sam says again, still in that same calm, measured tone.

At this point, Faraday cracks. His face crumples and he hunches in on himself in a desperate attempt to appear smaller than he is, as if this might somehow make the whole mess less painful, while one hand comes up to press at Vasquez's medallion without his permission. He asks in a voice that comes out small and pitiful, "How much do you know?" 

"Just that he's gone," Sam says, no question about who _he_  is. "Take your time. I'm not goin' anywhere."

"How come you're here at all?" Faraday demands, getting increasingly desperate to find a way out of this. He doesn't want to talk about this - he _can't_.

There's no mistaking the look in Sam's eye, however. All it takes is one glance at him and Faraday knows without a doubt the man isn't going anywhere until Faraday comes clean with the whole sordid affair. He's going to get his answers no matter how long it takes to wait Faraday out.

Leaning forward in his chair, Sam folds his hands in his lap and gives Faraday a considering look. There's something almost gentle in his expression, like he really doesn't want to make this harder than it has to be, and Faraday feels something brutal crack open in his chest, another example of the torrent of emotion that's been struggling to break free from him for all this time. Only for once, instead of spill out in the form of violence, now it comes out in words.

"We had a um - a misunderstandin'.” He chokes out, those few words enough to set him aching and making him want to flee before he can get the rest of the words out, before he can make Sam truly aware of the horrible thing he's done. 

"I don't - it wasn't a fight." He continues on, struggling to get every word out. "It _wasn't_. I wasn't upset with him. Fuck, I was the opposite of upset. Don't think he could tell that, though, and honestly I don't blame him. It probably looked that way from his end."

It had definitely looked that way from Vasquez's end. Faraday had known that the moment it had happened, and still run anyway, hiding himself away in one of the two rooms they'd been renting in a desperate attempt to get his head on straight while poor Vasquez had been left to stew by himself. No wonder the man had felt the need to do what he'd done.

"He took off without my realizin' it. After. I'd gone to try and calm down, stop - stop overreacting, but I figure he thought I was panickin' and left so stuff wouldn't stay awkward. I don't know." Faraday shrugs, hoping like hell Sam can parse through his rambling diatribe enough to pull the key bits of information from it because he's not going to give more details. He's _not_.

Luckily, Sam's as on the ball as ever. "You had a misunderstandin'. He said somethin' you didn't know how to handle, you went somewhere to keep your head down while you tried to figure out what to do, he mistook that for you bein' upset and left without sayin' anythin' to avoid makin' shit awkward."

"That's about the gist of it, yeah." Faraday says, relieved beyond measure that he doesn't have to say _what_ it was they'd had a misunderstanding about. All at once he gets hit with a rush of guilt and sadness as he thinks - for likely the millionth time at this point - about what had happened next. "I never got to tell him he had it wrong. By the time I'd caught up with him he was already - was already."

He leans forward then, burying his face in his hands as the guilt wells up and threatens to choke him like it has every damned day since and like it probably will for every damned day he has left on this earth. It was his fault, all his fault. He'd taken the coward’s way out to avoid having to deal with his own feelings, and in the end that had cost Vasquez his life. 

Distantly he registers a slight pressure on his shoulder, and when he straightens up it's to find Sam has moved to sit down beside him. His left hand is a steady grip, anchoring Faraday in a way nothing else has managed to for weeks now. Faraday almost wants to yank free just because he feels he doesn't deserve even this slight comfort.

As if he can sense where Faraday's thoughts are going, Sam's grip tightens. "Boy, I don't care what you think, you did not get Vasquez killed. Never mind any misunderstandings the two of you might have had."

Faraday barks out a hysterical laugh at this, wrenching his shoulder free from Sam's hold so that he can properly wallow in his own well-deserved pain. "Damnit, Chisolm, haven't you listened to anythin' I've said? _I_ chased him off. _I_ left him alone. _I_ was supposed to be watchin' his back, and instead I wasn't there when some damn bounty hunter found him. He's dead because of me!"

Sam makes a noise of disagreement. "Vasquez was a grown man, Faraday, not a boy who needed lookin' after. He made his own choices, you didn't force them on him."

"He did so need lookin' after!" Faraday contests hotly. "Don't you remember what he was like when you found him before Rose Creek? All skin and bones and duckin' for cover in terrible places? He needed me to have his back, and instead I'll but chased him to the noose!"

Faraday stands then, unable to sit any longer. He wants to reach for Vasquez's medallion, his own personal noose, the one he'll wear until it finally up and strangles him someday like he deserves, but he doesn't. That's not for Sam to know.

"You didn't chase him anywhere." Sam doesn't raise his voice so much as a note, but there's a firm edge to it as he eyes Faraday's now pacing form. "Vasquez knew how to take care of himself, son. You know that."

Not necessarily, Faraday doesn't say aloud. Not if he'd been too distracted by ... things that might be weighing on his mind. Things that Faraday had been directly responsible for putting there.

"It was my fault," he says, repeating the words that have become his own personal mantra. Feeling suddenly like his legs are about to give out, and for once that has nothing to do with how much booze he's had, he lurches back over to the bed and sinks down on the mattress. "My fault."

From the look on Sam's face, Faraday thinks the man might be becoming frustrated enough to haul off and sock him one. He half hopes that's the case. Pretty much the only time he feels even partly okay with himself these days is when someone's beating on him.

Just desserts and all that.

Unfortunately, Sam's better nature prevails and he keeps his hands to himself. Worse, his expression softens into one of pity. "You didn't do this, Faraday. I know it's hard for you to believe right now, but you didn't."

And that was such a flat out lie Faraday almost has to laugh. He doesn't, though. Sam would just keep trying to offer him absolution, and he flat out refuses to accept that.

"They wouldn't even let me see his body," he says then, desperately searching for a way to distract Sam. "I tried to get it from the Sheriff after they told me he'd already been hung. I wanted to let him rest somewhere he'd like - Rose Creek, maybe, I don't know - and they wouldn't even fuckin' let me see him!"

Faraday's fists the clench, the urge to haul off and punch something rising the way it always does whenever he thinks about this, about Vasquez lying in an unmarked grave, surrounded by convicts who wouldn't have been fit to look at him while he was alive. "They told me he'd already been buried and that was the end of it. I don't even know where." 

He pictures that bastard Sheriff, the man hadn't even pretended to look contrite when he'd denied Faraday's increasingly desperate requests. It'd gotten to the point where the man'd had one of his people bring in a box full of Vasquez's personal effects - his medallion, his colts, that stupid lasso he'd loved so much, all of it - just to shut him up. The Sheriff had told him he could have that if he was so desperate for a reminder of his friend.

Faraday had refused, not wanting anything of the kind, only relenting and snatching the medallion out of some misplaced sense of purpose when he'd known no one was watching. Lord only knew what had happened to the rest of Vasquez's things. Chances were good they'd been pawned off by now.

He looks up at Sam, grief and hurt coursing through every last one of his veins. "Why wouldn't they let me have him? I was there when you took out Powder Dan. You said his body could go to his widow. Why is Vas any different?"

Not wanting Sam to see what he's no doubt making painfully obvious at this point, Faraday shifts his gaze down to his fingers, interlocking them over and over again for lack of anything better to do. "He shouldn't be in an unmarked grave somewhere. He deserves better than that."

"Yes, he does." Sam says. His voice is kind, to the point that it makes Faraday flinch as a hand once again curls over his shoulder, offering comfort he doesn't deserve. "Let me talk to the Sheriff and see what I can find out. It might be he'll be more willin' to listen to another officer of the law than he is to you."

Faraday snorts, suddenly exhausted, and finally lets himself sag into Sam's touch. "That'd be ..... I'd appreciate it, Sam. Thanks."

"I'm not doin' it just for you, Faraday. Vasquez was my friend, and I don't like the idea of him bein' left as he is any more than you do." Sam gives him a little shake and then pulls back. "Now come on. Red and Horne are downstairs for breakfast already. They're anxious to see you, and you need somethin' in your stomach that didn't come out of a bottle."

"Not sure I can remember the last time that was the case," Faraday admits after a moment's pause.

"All the more reason to fix that." Sam tells him. "I'll make you a deal, you eat what you can in spite of that hangover of yours, and I'll go speak with the Sheriff as soon as you're done. Fair?"

"Fair," Faraday agrees. 

*****

Breakfast is a subdued affair. As pleased as Red and Horne may be to see Faraday again, and they are pleased, even if Red does his usual terrible job of showing it, nothing can change the fact that they've lost one of their own. The news of Vasquez's passing sits heavily on everyone at the table, like a tangible cloud of sorrow, to the point that Faraday's hardly the only one with a diminished appetite.

And speaking of Faraday, Sam keeps a close eye on him throughout the entire meal. Saying the man looks worse than death seems trite, not to mention inappropriate given the circumstances, yet it's true. The fact that he's not visibly wounded anywhere does little to change how Faraday looks worse now than he had when they'd dragged his torn and battered body in from the field of Rose Creek.

Or rather, when Vasquez had dragged him in, since he’d been the one to find him.

Sam pushes that thought away, flatly refusing to put it out in the open. The last thing on earth Faraday needs right now is to be reminded of that particular detail. Instead, he watches as Faraday forces down mouthful after mouthful of the meal in front of him, obviously intent on holding up his end of the deal lest Sam try and back out of going to find this idiot Sheriff.

This idiot Sheriff who hopefully Faraday hadn't pissed off too badly the first time he'd met him. Sam's unsure as to why the man wouldn't let Faraday have Vasquez's remains, possibly because he wasn't a blood relative, although that seemed unlikely. Generally most jails were happy to have such matters taken off their hands.

Who knows, though, maybe this fellow had his own way of doing things. If there was one thing Sam had learned during his career, it was that just because a man fell under the umbrella of working for the law, didn't mean he had the same view of what that meant as the person standing next to him.

Sam's still pondering the situation when he gets up from the table to go about his task. He can feel Faraday's eyes on him as he moves, the younger man's desire to come with him virtually palpable, but he gives a small shake of his head and then quirks an eyebrow at their remaining companion. Red doesn't do much as twitch, but Jack catches his eye and nods once, his intention to keep an eye on Faraday plain.

Relieved, Sam nods back just a little. Grabbing his hat from where he'd been resting it on the back of his chair while they'd eaten, he places it on his head and ducks out of the building without a word. He's already found out where he needs to go from Faraday, and he wants to be about it as quickly as possible.

The Sheriff's station isn't very far from the saloon. It takes Sam next to no time at all to arrive, and he's pleased to find no one else inside but for a bored looking deputy when he goes in.

The deputy flicks his eyes up from the ledger he's doodling in, doing a double take when his glance falls on Sam. It seems he still stands out no matter how many times he sets foot in places like this one. "Um," says the deputy, after more time than is appropriate has passed, "can I help you?"

"I'm hopin' so," Sam replies, slapping his most congenial expression in place. "The name's Chisolm, Sam Chisolm. I'm a warrant officer out of Wichita, Kansas, and I was wonderin' if I could speak to the man in charge."

"You mean Sheriff Greer?" The deputy asks. Sam vaguely wishes he was wearing a badge or something similar to identify him. Thinking of him as 'the deputy' is getting old fast.

Biting back the urge to sigh, he nods affably instead, although it's at least partly for show. "I’m not sure of the fellow's name, but if he's the one in charge of this place I'd like to speak with him."

"Now?" The deputy asks.

"Yes, son," Sam replies, adding some steel to his tone. "Now."

The deputy's back goes ramrod straight at that, and the young man, boy really, somehow manages to scoot back in his chair at the same time. "Yessir!" The kid barks. "I'll get him for you quick as can be."

He's gone before Sam can offer his thanks, which is maybe a good thing. Sam's not entirely positive he could stop himself from making a face in lieu of this much youth prancing about around him. 

For all his other faults, and Sam's in no mood to think kindly of the man regardless of whether or not he'd just been doing his job, Greer doesn't leave him waiting long. He's a tall man, with his middle starting to head towards weighty but not there yet, and a lush beard that's clearly been well kept. He comes around the corner in a bit of a rush, likely spurred on by his deputy's antics.

One hand out for Sam to shake, the Sheriff gives him a smile that immediately sets his teeth on edge. It puts him in mind of a snake in the grass waiting to spring and he decides right then and there the man's not to be trusted. 

"I didn't quite believe it when George here told me Sam Chisolm, the Sam Chisolm was in my station, but here you are, larger than life and twice as real. We heard about your stunt in Rose Creek all the way out here, and I'm impressed to say the least." He grabs Sam's hand in a tight grip and shakes it vigorously. 

"Seven men taking on an entire army and a damn Gatling gun with only a handful of untrained townies at their backs." Greer shakes his head wonderingly. "Hell of a miracle you and yours survived."

At that Sam draws his lips back in an expression no one would ever mistake for pleased, gratified when Greer drops his hand and takes a quick step back. "Funny you should say that," he says flatly, "because it just so happens that while Bart Bogue failed to take out any of my boys, it seems you damn did."

Greer's nostrils flair and his cheeks go pale. "Mr. Chisolm," he says, stutters really, "I assure you, I've never set eyes on you or any of your men before, and I certainly didn't kill any of them."

Sam snorts, letting a little more of his disdain show. "Sheriff, I dearly wish that were true, but if I may direct your memory back to an execution you would have overseen a few weeks ago. Tall fella, Mexican, would have had a pair of white handled colts on him. This ringin' any bells?"

Greer scowls at him, his hunted expression washing away in light of his rising ire. "Only had one Mexican these parts lately, Chisolm and he had a five hundred dollar bounty on his head for killing a ranger in cold blood. If he happened to be the same one you're on about that is your problem, not mine. Maybe next time don't recruit outlaws to work with you."

Wishing he could let his own temper show, Sam does his best to appear placid. As much as he might want to throttle this man for what he's done, the fact of the matter is the law is on his side and all he'd done was his job. Try as they might, Sam and the others didn't have a leg to stand on here. 

"Vasquez was a victim of circumstance," he says slowly. "Now, I'm not here to argue the details of the law with you, and I can't change the past. However, there's something I'm hopin' you'll be willin' to do for me."

"And what's that?" Greer asks, cocking his head to the side. His eyes narrow suddenly, eyebrows napping down into a vee over his forehead. "That other lunatic, the drunk Irishman who's been hanging around over at Cutter's, he's one of yours too, isn't he? That's what this is about. You're after the damned Mexican's body, aren't you?"

Nodding, Sam folds his arms over his chest and straightens into a more pointed posture. "You've got no need of it, and we want it. Let us bury him somewhere of our own choosin'."

"He's already _been_ buried," Greer snaps, giving up all pretences of civil behaviour, "and that ain't gonna change. What's done is done, Chisolm. If this is all you're interested in then I suggest you get the hell out of my town, and take that fuckin' Irish imbecile of yours with you." 

His back stiffening, Sam lets a little of the displeasure he's feeling start to show on his face. "Sheriff Greer, I recognize that Faraday can be a bit much to handle at times, but you need to be aware that one) he's one of the best men I've ever had fight by my side, and two) the man you killed was his friend. Anybody'd be riled up under those circumstances."

"Friends don't have a claim to the bodies of the deceased." Greer curls his lip in an ugly sneer. "You ain't blood relatives and none of you were married to the poor bastard. He's staying where he is."

"There's no rule that says someone other than family can't be given a convict's remains," Sam snaps, finally losing his patience. "Why do you care so much about keepin' him here?"

"I don't," Greer snaps, and now he just looks smug, "but I've had it about up to here with how people've behaved in this case. You want to know why I wouldn't even tell your other boy where the first one was buried? It was because I was afraid he'd try and dig up the damned body!"

Which he very well might have, Sam thinks but doesn't say aloud. Something else he doesn't say aloud is that Greer is being oddly forceful in his refusal to hand Vasquez over. Most Sheriff's would be glad to have something like this taken off their hands, and the fact that Vasquez has already been buried shouldn't present much of a problem if they were willing to take care of it themselves.

With warning bells beginning to sound in his head in light of something being not quite right here, Sam belatedly tunes back in to whatever Greer's yammering on about. 

" - already offered the other fella your Mexican's personal effects, and he said no. I didn't have to do that, and I think I've been more than reasonable about the whole thing considering we're talking about a man who'd committed murder." Greer stares up at Sam, his jaw clenching as he gets more and more worked up. 

"Vasquez was no saint," Sam acknowledges, "but neither are any of us when you get down to it and he was a good man. Loyal. He deserved better than what you gave him, and all I'm askin' is that you let me lay him to rest somewhere other than wherever you've put him."

"And I'm telling you the answer is no." Greer replies. "Furthermore, I want you and your lot to drop this foolishness. Your man's gone. I can appreciate how that's upsetting for you, and I'll offer you my apologies for your loss, but that's it."

"I see." Sam says icily. It's on the tip of his tongue to point out how Greer's hunted look, but the same warning bells are ringing out even harder now, telling him to keep his mouth firmly shut. He adjusts his hat for lack of anything else to do with his hands. "If that's the case, I suppose I'll see myself out. Good afternoon, Sheriff."

He catches sight of the excitable looking deputy peering around the corner at him as he heads towards the exit. For just a moment he catches the young man’s eye, noting an expression he can’t manage to qualify as he goes, until the boy turns his face away and ducks back out of the room. Filing this information away for later, he heads out of the station.

His people, including Faraday, are exactly where he’d left them, though everyone’s finished eating and have moved on to different ways of passing the time. Faraday’s got his deck of cards out and is half-heartedly twisting a few of them over his fingers, while Horne is whittling away as he’s wont to do to pass the time, and Red is watching them both in silence. Sam suspects the only reason the young Comanche is even still in the saloon is to help Jack keep an eye on Faraday while Sam was off going about his task.

Speaking of Red, he’s the first to spot Sam coming in, his chin dipping down in acknowledgement of Sam’s presence. Jack catches sight of him next, and he twitches heavily enough to get Faraday’s attention. The last member of their party sits up straight, all attempts to focus on the cards in his hands forgotten in light of more pressing matters.

“Well?” He asks as Sam steps over to their table. “What’d he say?”

“Nothin’ I was hopin’ to hear.” Sam admits, reaching out to grip the younger man’s arm when his face falls. “Steady, boy, I’m not done with this yet.” He thinks back to the deputy poking his head out as he’d left, belatedly recognizing the look on his face as guilty, and adds grimly, “The sheriff isn’t the only man workin’ in that office. If he won’t tell us where they’ve put Vasquez, maybe somebody else will.”

*****

"I just can't wrap my head around it," Horne says in that disapproving way of his. "I understand them having buried him prior to our arrival, even Faraday's, what with there being no point in leaving something like that left undone, but to not tell us where they put him?" The old man's unhappy frown deepens. "It's cruel."

"Not to mention nonsensical." Sam agrees. "The Sheriff fed me a line about worryin' we’d go off and dig him up without permission, but I'm positive that was a load of horseshit. I'm half tempted to send off for Goody and Billy - let the man come face to face with all the remainin' heroes of Rose Creek at once, and see how he fares."

"Maybe save that as a last resort," Horne suggests. "If we go in there half-cocked, he might just double down and say no even more forcefully."

"Jack, the only way he could say no more forcefully after this mornin' would be to pull weapons on us." Sam grunts and readjusts his hat in the warm afternoon sun. "The man was not interested in listenin' to reason or negotiatin' whatsoever."

Hat now back in place, Sam strides a few more paces down the street, realizing only belatedly that he's doing so alone. Turning, he finds Horne rooted in place, peering at him thoughtfully with his head cocked to the side. "What?"

The old man doesn't reply right away, choosing instead to bob his head from side to side for a time, eyeing Sam as if he's an unexpected puzzle in need of piecing together. Not appreciating the scrutiny, Sam folds his arms over his chest and stares back without a word. Finally, Horne snorts, the sound not one that usually comes from the old bear. "You're handling this worse than I thought."

Feeling suddenly hunted and not appreciating it one bit, Sam hunches in on himself, his shoulders tightening minutely. "I'm fine," he insists, "Faraday's the one who isn't."

Jack hooks his hands around the top of the heavy fur vest he'd refused to remove despite the way the heated had increased over the course of the day, and gives Sam a look that's far more knowing and coherent than his typical ones. "Faraday's a mess sure enough. There's no avoiding that, take it from someone who's been in his place, but his reaction makes sense. Yours doesn't. What's going on?"

"What's goin' on?" Sam echoes. He'd figured it was obvious. "I made Faraday a promise and I aim to keep it. I'm goin' to find out where Vasquez is."

"And then do what?" Horne asks softly. "Sam, as much as I hate to admit it, the man's been dead for weeks. God have mercy on him, but it might be best to leave him where he is at this point."

Sam has a sudden vision of Vasquez as he'd last seen him, laughing up against his horse while he spun one of those flashy pistols of his like he always did when he needed to fidget. Then he remembers the look on Faraday's face and the words 'I wanted to let him rest somewhere he'd like'. He shudders.

"We're not leavin' him here," he says in a tone that allows no argument. "I won't do that to him, to either of them. We're goin' to find him and lay him to rest properly, the way he should have been already."

He stares over at Horne, willing the other man to understand, and it seems like he does. Rather than protesting any further, the old bear nods and claps a hand on Sam's shoulders. "If that's what you want to do," he says. "How do you figure we go about it?"

"I've got a couple ideas I want to try," Sam says, his thoughts harkening back to the young deputy and his squirrelly behaviour. If he knows them by reputation as well as the Sheriff does, it may be the case they can get what they need from him. "We can't do them right away, though. For now I say we go get those supplies you and Red scouted out yesterday. Let’s make it look like we're just goin' about our regular business."

"And if we happen to hear folks gossiping along the way?" Horne asks knowingly.

"I don't reckon we'll hear much," Sam admits with a shrug, "not in a town like this. No one's goin' to want to risk tickin' off the Sheriff since he's the last stop for the law out here. If we do, though? Well, more power to us."

*****

Red Harvest isn't exactly thrilled about having been appointed Faraday's babysitter, but he recognizes the need for someone to stay with him while Sam and Horne are off wandering about town. The gambler is oddly subdued, all traces of his usual gregarious nature having vanished, and given how Sam said he'd found him, he shouldn't be left to his own devices. Faraday's had a nose for trouble the whole time Red's known him, which needs to be kept in check while they remain in town.

They've moved upstairs to one of the rooms Sam had rented without consulting anyone the night before. The saloon owner had made it clear he didn't care for either of them very much, leading them to reach the unspoken conclusion that they were better off staying out of his way while they waited for Sam and Horne to finish up their business. Even with Faraday sober for the moment, it just seemed wiser to keep to themselves.

Speaking of Faraday, the man in question has his cards out again, flipping them around in practiced ease as he makes the whole pack dance before Red's eyes. He's always been good with the things, better possibly than he was with his guns. Not even the recent tragedy appears to have dulled his skills.

On the other hand, it's possibly done something to his personality. Red's never seen him sit so quietly for so long, not even when he was recovering from his wild charge on Bogue's gatling gun. As soon as he'd been conscious he'd been trying to convince the others to let him out of bed, and when that hadn't worked he'd insisted on being kept company practically every waking hour. 

Vasquez hadn't had a problem with that, Red remembers. In fact, he can vividly picture the man sitting by Faraday's bedside with his feet propped up on the mattress and one hand holding his preferred band of cigar, cackling uproariously at some no doubt highly exaggerated tale Faraday was spinning. The two of them had fit into each other’s company like they were made to be there.

And possibly they had been. Red has a sneaking suspicion, one he suspects at least Horne and probably Sam share, that Faraday’s grief is stemming from more than just guilty and the loss of a friend. Although he’s not going to risk saying as much, never mind his own desires to stay out of people’s personal problems, he suspects Faraday would react poorly to his prying.

He watches Faraday for a while longer. Normally Red is someone to bask in silence, it being his preferred state of being, but this? This strange creature that has replaced a man he’d be willing to call a friend? Even he doesn’t enjoy it, and he finds himself at a loss for how to act. Finally, he gives in and does the only thing he can think of.

“Show me a trick.”

“Hmm?” The simple murmur is the first noise Faraday’s made since they’d come up to this room, and Red suspects he’s made it only out of some misplaced sense of necessity rather than because he actually wants to engage in a conversation.

Well that was unfortunate for him. Red may like being silent himself, but he doesn’t like seeing it in others when it’s not supposed to be there. Sam and Jack aren’t here to make Faraday talk, meaning this is up to him. Clearing his throat, he repeats the words again, this time pitching them so they come out as more of a request. “Show me a trick?”

Faraday eyes him shrewdly. There’s no way he’s missed how strange a request that was to come from Red. He’s never shown any interest in Faraday’s card plays before, not openly anyway, and his voice is flat when he asks, “Why?”

Red shrugs, deliberately keeping his face inscrutable. “I’m bored.”

“Bullshit.” Faraday says bluntly, a hint of his usual fire lurking in the word. “You ain’t never had any interest in what I can do with these things before. Don’t expect me to believe you’ve just up and developed one now.”

Knowing he has to tread lightly, Red considers and discards a number of responses until he finds one he thinks might work. “I don’t understand how you do them. It’s annoying.”

Caught off guard as Red had hoped he would be, Faraday blinks once and then looks down at the deck in his hands. He shuffles the cards lightly, merely shifting a few of them back and forth as he obviously ponders what to say. “It’s not hard,” he says finally, his eyes still firmly fixed on the cards rather than anything else. “They’re just – most of it’s just slight of hand. Easy enough to get if you know what to look for.”

It’s not much of an opening, but it’s one Red is surely going to take if it’ll mean doing away with the oppressive silence that’s invaded the room. “Show me that then. How you make your tricks work.”

“Well I ain’t goin’ to show you _all_ of them,” Faraday drawls, something of the sharp humour Red has come to associate with him coloring the words. “I’d be a pretty shoddy magician if I gave away all my secrets.”

Red has no interest in all of Faraday’s secrets. He doubts he’d know how to handle them even if they were given to him. This, however, this he thinks he can tread lightly enough to work with. Letting out a snort that’s mostly just for show, he crosses his arms over his chest and eyes Faraday coolly. “You sound afraid I’ll be better at them than you.”

Faraday’s eyebrows snap down as he jerks his gaze away from his cards to glare over at Red. “You fuckin’ wish,” he says pointedly. “It takes years of practice to get as good with these things as I am, and you need natural talent to boot. I bet it all goes right over your head.”

“Then teach me,” Red says simply, “and we’ll see how good I am.”

Faraday eyes him suspiciously for a few long moments. It’s obvious he knows what Red’s doing, recognizes the tactic for the distraction it’s designed to be, but it’s also equally clear that he hates the thought of letting Red question his skills and get away with. Eventually he huffs out a breath and gives Red the ghost of a rueful smile. “Fine. C’mere and let me show you a couple of the simplest ones. I’ll be nice and go easy on a novice like you.”

“You’re too kind.” Red says dryly, but he obediently shuffles his chair over nevertheless, pleased to have banished the uncomfortable silence for at least the time being.

*****

“Do you have a particular plan in mind, or are we just going to wander the town aimlessly for the rest of the day?” Jack’s voice is pitched low and not all accusing, but Sam gets the sense he’s verging close to frustration with how they’ve progressed so far.

“I have less a particular place and more a particular person,” Sam admits. He’s held off on telling Jack his suspicions with regards to the young deputy until now, but the man has a point when he talks about wandering aimlessly. So far they’ve stopped in at every public space that could conceivably have a reason for being in. The locals have all been perfectly polite and willing to engage in conversation, but not one of them has given any indication as to why their Sheriff would be to reluctant to hand over a dead man’s body to the closet thing he had to kin.

Not that Sam had been expecting them to, mind you. It’s just that it’d be nice if for once in their lives a mission could go down as planned, with the right cards lining up in their favour.

“Sam.” Jack says mildly, but still with enough emphasis to jerk Sam out of his reverie. “What’s your idea?”

Figuring now’s as good a time as any to let Jack in on what he’d seen earlier in the day, Sam takes a moment to ascertain that there’s no one but the two of them within hearing range. Once he’s satisfied that there isn’t, he motions Jack over to the side of the street where they won’t be as obvious should someone stumble out of the nearby buildings at the wrong moment.

Jack eyes him a little warily, clearly concerned by Sam’s behaviour, but doesn’t push.

“The Sheriff made it perfectly clear he’s not goin’ to help us,” he says, and Jack makes an impatient get on with it gesture at this news. Given the situation, Sam can’t really blame him. However, he’s unsure of how to put his thoughts regarding the deputy into words, and he thinks laying out all the facts in one go might better help him be understood.

“The Sheriff was no help,” he says again, “but he wasn’t the only one in the office when I stopped in for my visit. There was a deputy, a real young fella. Probably no older than Teddy Q back in Rose Creek. If that.”

“Alright,” Jack says slowly. “And you think this boy might help us? Why?”

Sam shrugs. “It’s more of a gut feelin’ than anythin’ else,” he admits. “He’d been hiding back out of the way while the Sheriff and I had our … discussion, as it were, but he popped out again as I was leavin’. There was just somethin’ about the look on his face. I got the feelin’ that, not only does he know where Vasquez is, but he might have felt guilty enough to tell us.”

“Strange thought that, the boy feeling guilty, I mean,” Jack says when Sam makes a confused noise. “As much as I hate to admit it, these people were only doing their jobs when they had Vasquez put to death. Why would one of them be bothered by it?”

That one Sam has an answer for. “They know what happened in Rose Creek, but not all the names of the parties involved. Sheriff Greer was surprised when I told him Vasquez was one of the seven who took down Bogue. Maybe learnin’ that made the kid see him in a different light and feel bad about what happened.”

“As well he should,” Jack says firmly. “It’s not for any man down here to decide whether or not a man’s crimes make him worthy or unworthy of absolution. Vasquez may have gotten into something he shouldn’t before we knew him, but the man I knew wouldn’t have done such deeds without good reason. I know the one doesn’t necessarily outweigh the other in the eyes of the law, but that’s how I feel.”

“Likewise.” Sam shifts uncomfortable and prepares to change the subject. He’s never been good with Jack’s proselytizing, although he respects the man more than he does most others. “As far as I’m concerned that deputy is out best shot at finding the information we’re after. We just need to find him first.”

“Sounds to me like the Sheriff’s office would be the best place to look,” Jack points out. “Though that does run the risk of the Sheriff spotting us and throwing us out again.”

Sam nods. “I know, that’s what I’m afraid of. Especially since our pissing Greer off even more will run the risk of making his man clam up out of fear of retribution.”

“A powerful motivator to be sure.” Jack agrees.

“Right, so we need to get to that deputy before we do anybody else.” Sam sighs. “It looks like we’re goin’ to have no choice but to try the office.”

“It’s getting late now, almost supper time.” Jack points out. “If he and the Sheriff were both in there this morning, they could very well be gone by now.”

“Which might work better for our purposes,” he continues on thoughtfully, rubbing his chin as he lets whatever’s in his head make its way out. “We could go in there and say we’re looking for the Sheriff, say we want to discuss matters with him again. If he’s not there then we ask for the boy because you remember him having been around before and think maybe he can help.”

“And if Greer is there we just have another row with him where no one winds up the wiser than he’s not who we’ve really come to see,” Sam finishes. “That could work.”

Jack gives him a wry smile and taps a finger against his own temple. “There’s still some brains in this old head yet.”

The line startles a laugh out of Sam, and he motions with one hand after he’s got himself under control once again. “The Sheriff’s office is this way. I’m not goin’ back to the boarding house empty handed again if I can avoid it.”

Jack makes a commiserating noise, and begins lumbering off in the direction Sam has indicated. “Yes, the look on poor Joshua’s face wasn’t one I’d care to see again.”

Since his seconding that notion would only amount to his stating the obvious, Sam remains silent. The town is small enough that it won’t take them long to reach their destination, and he amuses himself over the course of the walk by running through possible things to say once he’s in front of the law enforcement boys again. He doesn’t come up with much.

There’s a different deputy manning the front desk when they walk through the doors. This one is older than the fellow who they’re looking for, but still a fair bit younger than Greer. He looks up as they come in, his face falling as they draw nearer. If Sam had to guess, he’d say his good friend the Sheriff had warned his men he might be back.

“Sheriff Greer isn’t here,” the new deputy says pre-emptively. He squares his shoulders in the way of a man who doesn’t want to fight, but fears he might be about to land in one anyway. “He also said I wasn’t to give you gentlemen the information you’re looking for.”

Sam narrows his eyes, and beside him Jack rests his hand none too subtly on the handle of the ax he has slipped through his belt. It’s a gesture the deputy can’t possibly miss, though to his credit he doesn’t so much as flinch. Maybe he’s too young to have heard all the stories of the legendary Jack Horne.

Deeming that thought trail to be irrelevant, Sam makes a show of looking around the room, noting how the deputy is the only one out here at the moment, and then slowly stalks up to the counter. “I don’t much care what Greer told you, son,” he says icily, as he plants both of his hands down on the wood. He allows himself the barest of smiles when the deputy swallows worriedly and leans away from him. “That man is deliberately withholding something from me, and I don’t aim to let it stand. Where is he?”

“I told you, he ain’t here!” The deputy barks, fear leeching into his voice as he shoves back further still. Sam’s half of a mind to take pity on him, but doesn’t because that won’t get him what he wants. “He’s long gone home to the missus at this point. He won’t be back until tomorrow morning.”

Sam scowls, keeping up the act even though this is exactly the response he’d been hoping for. “Well then what about that other young fella who was in here earlier? George, I think Greer called him. Is he still around?”

“Oland?” The deputy asks, apparently thrown by the change in topic. “Yeah, he’s still here. Though not for much longer, I don’t think. What do you want him for?”

“He’s the only other man in this station who was here when I spoke with your Sheriff the first time, let me talk to him and maybe I’ll go away quiet like after I’ve done so.”

Concerned enough by Sam’s behaviour that he doesn’t stop to think about how this demand makes no sense, the deputy nods jerkily. “I’ll go get him for you, sir.”

“No no, not out here,” Sam barks making the deputy jump. He’s almost starting to feel sorry for the man. Almost, but not quite. “I don’t want more of you boys listenin’ in on a private conversation. I’m sure you’ve got offices in the back there. You take us to one of them and bring us deputy Oland. I’ve got no interest in makin’ a spectacle of myself for the lot of you to gossip over.”

Once again too on edge to question Sam’s non-existent authority to order him around, the deputy nods and motions for them to follow him. He leads them into a room that’s not an office and is probably used for interrogations if Sam is any judge. After which he leaves with a quick, “I’ll go find George for you as quick as can be.”

Jack lets out an uncharacteristic snicker as the door closes behind him. “Every now and again I understand why you and Goodnight are friends. You’re both a pair of overdramatic bastards.”

Sam feels a sudden pang at the mention of Goodnight’s name, and finds himself wishing his old friend were here right now. Once they get this whole mess sorted, they’ll have to let him and Billy know what’s happened. Vasquez had been their friend too.

Pasting a smile on his face, he drops into one of the chairs in the room, indicating that Jack should grab the one next to him. It’ll help if they present a united front once they’ve got Deputy Oland in here. The boy could very well crack under the pressure of their mutually disappointed stares, especially if the actions of his co-worker are anything to go by.

Jack’s just settled his considerable girth into the squeaking chair when the door clicks open and Oland steps inside. He’s got a look on his face not unlike that of a man marching towards his own funeral, something Sam finds oddly fitting in a dark kind of way.

“Er,” says Oland. “Henry mentioned you two would like a word with me?”

“You could say that, son,” Sam says with a smile. “Have a seat.”

"Bit it odd, you telling me to have a seat in my own workplace, Mr. Chisolm," Oland says, though Sam notes he does as requested. He pulls back the chair directly across from Sam and drops into it, his position now such that he has his back to the closed door while Sam and Jack eye him across the table. "Not that I mean any disrespect by that, of course. We heard all about Rose Creek even way out here."

Sam and Jack share a quick look at this. "You hear that, Jack?" Sam asks mildly. "The good deputy here says he heard all about Rose Creek, and he seems to think it was an event to be impressed by."

Picking up on the game Sam's playing, Jack shakes his head sadly. "I find that hard to believe," he says, reedy voice full of disappointment. "If he was truly impressed by what we did there, he wouldn't have taken part in killing one of our fellows, or at least he'd have the common decency to tell us what they did with him after."

"Right." Sam nods solemnly and turns to face the deputy again. "I've got to say, I just can't understand that last part. What good does it do you boys to deny us that much?"

Oland squirms uncomfortably and fixes his gaze on the table in front of him. "Ain't my call, sirs." He tells the rough hewn wood. "Sheriff's orders are that nobody is to say anything."

"Why?" Sam demands, his voice lashing out whip-quick and dangerous. Oland flinches but doesn't look up. "Come on, boy. You know as well as we do how idiotic this is. You've got no call not to tell us where he's been buried."

"Sheriff Greer said -"

"I know what Sheriff Greer has said," Sam replies, reining himself in before he starts to lose his cool. It won't do for him to take his frustrations out on this kid, especially when he was only following orders. "I may not understand it, but I know it. I also recognize what kind of position I'm puttin' you in by even dragging you in this room tonight. That doesn't mean I'm goin' to back off."

"Sam," Jack says worriedly, and he places a warning hand on Sam's shoulder. "We're not here to get the lad in trouble.

"No, we're not," Sam agrees shrugging him off. "We're here to find answers. This is ridiculous, and it's cruel. We've got a right to know."

Oland flinches again, and curls in on himself even more. "Sir, Mr. Chisolm, it's not that I disagree with you, but if I say anything I'm out of a job or worse."

Sam gives him a very long look. "Well I can't much comment on that or worse' part, but I have to say I find this whole thing mighty strange. There's got to be a reason you folks are denyin' our request, and I aim to find out why."

Now Oland does look up. "You threatening me, sir?" He asks, showing the first spark of attitude he's had since he'd walked into this room.

"Absolutely not," Sam replies firmly. He's faced down far more dangerous men than a wet behind the ears pup like this one, and most of them hadn't been withholding information he wanted quite this badly, but that's still no reason for him to step out of line unless it becomes absolutely necessary, especially when he suspects Oland's going to give in if they keep pressing him. Appealing to the man's better nature seems to be the way to go. He wouldn't have set foot in the room if he wasn't at least willing to consider talking. "Put yourself in my place. In my line of work the men you have at your side are the closest thing you get to a family, and you're here telling me you won't help me and the others find closure."

"Mr. Chisolm, I can't." Oland sounds utterly wretched now, but Sam isn't sure he's ready to crack yet. He considers a different tactic.

"Can I tell you about Vasquez?" He asks softly. "About the kind of man he was? I recognize that you and the rest of this office had a job to do, and I know you had no idea who he was or what he did at Rose Creek, but I'm telling you, son, that was a man worthy of your respect."

"He killed a ranger," Oland says, and Sam can tell he's clinging to that thought like a lifeline. "Shot him dead and had the warrant to prove it."

"Yes, that he did," Sam acknowledges. There's no getting around that, and he doesn't see a need to try. "However, you know full well it's not that black and white. Some rangers are good, I’d go so far as to say most of them, but not all. Every job goin' has its share of bad apples. Hell, you heard the story of Rose Creek, every member of law enforcement in that place let himself be bought and paid for by Bart Bogue, from the lowest deputy right on up to Sheriff Harp himself."

"Me and my men though," he continues on, ruthless in his own way, "the seven of us went in there with a job to do and we did it. We got an entire town full of people their homes back, and Vasquez? Son, that man was the first of my boys to say he wasn't leavin' when I told them they were welcome to get out and save their own lives before the fight started, he stayed at his post with a bullet in the arm, and he was still goin' when four of the others were down for the count. He was a _good_ man, and he was my friend."

Sam leans forward in his seat and taps a finger onto the tabletop to get Oland's attention. "You look me in the eye, son, and you tell me how you'd react in my place. If you can do that and honestly say you'd be fine leaving things as is I'll leave you be, but if not ..." Sam trails off and lets the ensuing silence speak for him.

Oland stares back at him breathing heavily. His nostrils flare as he makes a noise more akin to a bark than anything else, and then he too leans forward in his seat, matching Sam's posture almost exactly. "This doesn't leave this room." He says. The man looks wild around the eyes, and Sam feels the back of his neck prickle as he starts to realize there's more going on here than he'd first thought.

He leans back in his seat slowly, never taking his eyes off Oland's rigid form. "Alright. Tell us what you know."

"No." Oland says, and the word comes out like a plea. "I want your word first. I don't want this getting back to me."

Sam glances at Jack. The old hunter shrugs, but there's a look in his eye that Sam knows means he thinks something strange is going on as well. He holds Jack's gaze until his friend nods, and shifts his attention back to Oland. "Alright, you have both our word."

Oland nods jerkily, takes a deep breath, and then taps his fingers repeatedly on the table. He couldn't be broadcasting his nervousness more if he'd scrawled it on a sign and waved it in their faces. Finally, he squares his shoulders, appearing to come to a decision. "I can't tell you where your man's buried."

Unable to stop himself, Sam lets a wordless noise of frustration slip out, for which he's glad Jack is the only one here to lay witness too. He understands that the boy is frightened, whatever Greer's done has put him between the proverbial rock and a hard place, but he can only handle so much. 

“Deputy …” he starts to say, only to be cut off by a sharp slash of Oland’s hand.

“I can’t tell you where he’s buried because he’s not buried anywhere.”

Sam freezes, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest, and next to him Jack goes preternaturally still. “I think you’d better explain what you mean by that, Mr. Oland.” He says his voice clipped. “Right. Now.”

There are a million different scenarios racing through Sam’s head, each more unrealistic than the last, and all of them bringing with them the potential of hope. He tries to remind himself that there are plenty of ways to destroy a body, that Oland certainly hasn’t said Vasquez _isn’t_ dead, but the hope is there now. Hope and with it the terrifying fear that it might yet amount to nothing.

Wilting under the weight of Sam and Jack’s combined stares; Oland sags back in his seat and scrubs his hands over his face. Bringing them down to lay splayed out on top of the table once more, he asks, “Either of you ever heard of a fella by the name of William Rask?”

Wondering what the hell that has to do with anything, but willing to let Oland say his piece at his own pace, so long as that pace is a reasonable one, Sam shrugs. “Can’t say that I have. Why?”

“He owns a mine about a week’s ride west of here. It’s a big one, one that needs a lot of workers, and the thing about Rask is, he don’t like paying for labour.” At Sam’s raised eyebrow, Oland flushes and rubs at the back of his neck with one hand. “He’s got – uh – arrangements with about half a dozen towns in the area.”

“Define arrangement.” Sam says flatly. He’s pretty sure he knows where this is going now, but he wants to hear Oland say it.

“Sheriff Greer said nobody would miss ‘em,” Oland mumbles instead. He locks his gaze somewhere on a point above Sam’s left shoulder, and his neck rubbing gets more awkward, more ashamed. “He said it was fine because they were criminals anyway, most of ‘em were either going to end up hung or in prison camps.”

“Forced labour,” Sam says, while Jack makes a sound suspiciously like a growl. “You’ve been handin’ your prisoners over to this Rask fellow for what, a fee?”

Oland nods miserably. “Rask pays based on how many folks each spot has to hand over. He don’t come often, and most times he only walks away with one or two men, but that’s how it works.”

“And you gave him Vasquez?”

“Not me,” Oland denies, immediately setting Sam’s teeth on edge as he tries to shuck all responsibility. “The Sheriff okayed all the deals that went down, including that one. The rest of us were just supposed to keep our mouths shut and forge the papers for a fake execution here and there.”

“Damnit boy,” Sam snaps beginning to lose his grip on his temper. “You’re talkin’ about human beings here. I don’t care what they did to wind up in jail cells; you can’t just treat them like cattle.”

“It wasn’t my decision,” Oland protests, and Sam has to stamp down on the urge to throttle the man.

“The hell it wasn’t,” he says instead, fighting to get his anger under control lest he get too riled up and bring the other deputy in to investigate. “It became your decision the second you sat back and went along with it. That’s how responsibility works.” He adds firmly, wanting to make this point abundantly clear. “You can say what you want about Vasquez and the others like him, but he knew that.”

“Knows.”

Startled, Sam tears his gaze away from Oland and focuses on Jack. The old man raises his head, a look of determination flaring on his face. “Vasquez _knows_ that, Sam. He’s still alive. That’s what we should be focusing on here.”

Jack’s right, Sam thinks. He’d gotten so caught up in the actions of the Sheriff and his men, not to mention several other sheriffs and their men from the sound of things, he’d let the most important detail slip past him without noticing. On the other hand, this Rask person has had Vasquez for weeks; who knows what’s transpired between then and now. “He’d better be,” Sam says.

There’s no mistaking the quiet menace in the words, and Oland doesn’t miss it. He hunches further down in his seat, still refusing to look either of the men across from him in the eye. “There’s no reason why he shouldn’t be. Rask works them hard, but he don’t waste resources, either. Not from what I hear.”

“Boy, I’m goin’ to suggest you don’t call our man a resource again.” Sam tells him, and he means every word of it. While he can recognize the difficult position he’s put Oland in today, he’s not going to stand for that sort of talk.

Oland flushes and ducks his head for the umpteenth time since this meeting had begun. “Didn’t mean nothing by it, sir,” he mumbles.

Sam gives him a long look, hoping to convey his disappointment, and only stops when Jack taps him lightly on the arm. “We should leave.” He says simply. “We got what we came for.”

While he supposes that’s true, Sam’s having a hard time seeing past the cowering deputy in front of him. He’d like nothing more than to deal with the man the way he’s dealt with so many others, but this is neither the time nor the place for that. Jack’s right. They need to go.

“Fine,” he says, and moves to stand up.

Oland lifts his head as he does so. “You’ll keep your end of our bargain?”

“I’m not goin’ to say anythin’ to Greer, boy,” Sam acknowledges. What he doesn’t say is that his reason for keeping quiet has nothing to do with protecting Oland and everything to do with protecting Vasquez. It’d be the stupidest move imaginable to let Greer know they’re on to him, especially since he might just go ahead and inform Rask to be on the lookout for a band of men with a grudge against them. “If I were you, I’d make a point to do the same.”

He doesn’t say they’ll be back once they have this bigger mess sorted out. That’s another instance where it’d be foolish to tip his hand so early. As such, he settles for making his way out of the building with Jack following at his heels.

It’s full on night at this point, and the air is cool as they step outside. Enjoying the way the drop in temperature helps clear his head, Sam sucks in a deep lungful of air and then lets out it slowly. “Well,” he says finally, “that meetin’ definitely didn’t go how I’d anticipated.”

“You don’t say,” Jack replies, and damnit if the old bear doesn’t sound halfway amused.

“I do say,” Sam snipes back, “but honestly I can’t even focus on the whole mess. I’m too caught up in one thing.”

“And what’s that?” Jack wants to know.

“What in the _hell_ are we goin’ to tell Faraday?”

*****

Faraday will never admit it, but having Red Harvest stick around to keep him company while Sam and Jack are off puttering around the town is nothing short of a godsend. He’s spent the last couple of weeks alternating between black out drunk and lost in his own grief. Spending time sober but in the company of someone he trusts makes him feel more human than he has in days.

Even if this particular someone insists on judging each card trick he tries to teach him.

“I don’t understand why you enjoy this so much.” Red says after Faraday walked him through his third trick of the afternoon. “There’s no point to it.”

"Sure there is," Faraday replies. He gathers the deck together in his hands, snapping it out in a quick fan that makes Red roll his eyes and mutter something rude sounding under his breath. "Misdirection is an art form, my friend, one with all kinds of benefits."

"Name one," Red grunts.

"Distraction, captivation," Faraday shrugs. He thinks about an afternoon outside of Amador City when he'd been standing in with a mine to his back and no less than three unfriendly guns trained on his person. "Knowin' my way around these beauties has gotten me out of more scrapes than I can count."

He half expects a gravelly voice to chime in and tell him that would only matter if he could count very high, or some other fond dig at his expense. These past weeks have been sorely lacking in such barbs. Faraday's having as hard a time adjusting to that as he is anything else.

In need of a distraction he starts shuffling the cards. "You want me to show you the trick I used to talk my way out of a spot of trouble in Kansas once?"

"Will I think it's foolish?" Red asks.

"Name one thing I've done since you've known me that you didn't think was foolish," Faraday replies, and Red makes a thoughtful face. "Yeah, that's about what I figured."

This time Red snorts. Crossing his arms over his chest he gives Faraday a skeptical look followed by a sigh. "Show me the trick."

"Remember, you're the one who brought this up in the first place," Faraday points out. He wriggles in his seat in an unsuccessful attempt to get more comfortable, adjusting the cards in his hands. "Now watch this."

They pass the time like that for longer than Faraday's aware. He distantly registers the onset of night because Red gets up to light a lamp, bringing it back to the table with little comment. Other than that there's nothing to indicate the passage of time.

Eventually, however, Sam and Jack do return, pushing the door open just enough to let them slip inside while Red and Faraday watch from their positions around the table. First Jack and then Sam enters, neither of them saying a word.

"Well?" Faraday asks when he can't handle the silence any more. He stuffs his cards into the pocket of his vest, no longer wanting the distraction they represent. "What happened?"

Sam looks over at Jack, who dips his head in a clear indication that the warrant officer should feel free to do the talking. He swallows noticeably, something Faraday's brain immediately flags as a concern, and then steps forward until he can join them at the table with Jack following suit.

"Sam," Faraday says harshly, when neither man starts talking even after getting settled. "Did you get an answer or not?"

"We got an answer," Sam says finally, and Faraday feels something he classifies as relieved dread well up in his chest, only to have his emotions become entirely jumbled when the man continues on. "It just wasn't what we were expectin'."

Since the only answer Faraday had been expecting had been another adamant refusal, that could very well be a good thing. He doesn't know, however, because Sam won't fucking talk. "Just tell me," he growls, losing all semblance of patience.

And they do. Faraday sits back in his seat as Sam haltingly begins relaying the day's events, stopping every now and again when Jack wants to throw in his two cents worth. He listens as they tell him a story about a shamefaced deputy, a corrupt sheriff, and a faceless mining baron who's inadvertently thrown their lives into an uproar. 

Partway through his hand creeps up towards his collar, and he has to force it back down again. He's always prided himself on being a man without an obvious tell, it's part of what makes him one of the best gamblers going. The fact that he's been developing one as of late needs to be nipped in the bud, if only for his own sanity.

When he's finished, Sam stares across the table at him. His gaze is heavy, weighted, like he's expecting some exuberant reaction, and doesn't know what to do now that he hasn't gotten it. "So," he says, "that's the news. It's unexpected to say the least." 

"I - yeah," Faraday says, and that's it, that's all he can say. There's something wrong with his throats because it's closed up and refusing to let any more words out. 

Beside him, Red makes an aborted move, almost like he's going to reach out and offer a comforting hand before remembering that's not a thing he and Faraday do. For some reason, Faraday finds that idea comforting.

Shifting slightly, Red returns his attention to Sam. "What do we do?"

"Jack and I have discussed that a bit," Sam starts, all while eyeing Faraday like he's some delicate piece of glass that needs to be handled with care, or a half-feral animal to be approached with caution. "We think the first thing to do is up our manpower a little."

"Rocks and Robicheaux?" Red asks.

"Rocks and Robicheaux," Sam agrees. "They're goin' to want in on this as much as the rest of us, and I reckon we'll need 'em. They shouldn't be too hard to find. Last I heard they were a few days ride up north." 

"I can find them." Red says as simple as can be. 

"Good, then you'll head out first thing in the mornin'," Sam decrees, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. "Accordin' to our young friend the deputy, Rask and this mine of his are over by Harris City. The rest of us will head that way, and meet you on the outskirts. We'll do a bit of scoutin' and see what there is to see."

Red nods, then lapsing back into silence, while Faraday comes to the abrupt realization that he needs to be anywhere else right now. Standing up from the table, he nods jerkily at the door. "I'm goin' - Jack needs seein' to. He's been in the stables all day by himself."

Sam immediately moves to protest, stopping only when Jack - the human, not the aforementioned horse - gets a grip on his arm to hold him in place. The old man murmurs something that's too low for Faraday to catch, yet whatever it is seems to settle Sam down, at least it does based on the way the man nods and sits back in his chair.

The walk to the stables is a blur, one Faraday couldn't describe if he tried. He distantly registers bumping into to someone at some point, but whoever it is must take one look at him and decide he's not a man to be trifled with at this juncture.

By the time he makes it to the stables he's breathing heavily, harsh and ragged to the point that Jack makes a distressed sound when Faraday approaches his stall. 

"Hey, fella," Faraday chokes out as he pats Jack's neck. "How's my handsome boy?"

Jack whickers in answer, nosing at Faraday's arm, which has begun to shake. "I'm fine," Faraday declares in all evidence to the contrary. "Just got some surprisin' news is all."

Surprising, he says, as if Sam had come back with something mildly unexpected instead of earth shattering news that's rocked him to his core. All these weeks he's spent unable to process how Vasquez could possibly be gone between one blink and the next, and now that might not even be the case at all.

Except, no. He can't think like that. It doesn't matter what Sam and the others believe. If he lets himself believe that Vasquez is alive and then learns otherwise it will kill him, he's certain of it. He's already lost the man once; he won't survive doing it a second time.

“Should never’ve walked out that door,” he says wretchedly, and if his voice catches at least he knows Jack won’t judge him. “Or I should have come back sooner. If I’d just explained what was goin’ on …”

As he has so many times before he drifts back to a night in a rundown boarding house, one where he’d been sprawled across a bed that didn’t quite fit him, howling fit to burst at some stupid joke or other. He hears phantom laughter ringing in his ears, a rough voice saying, “I’m not done yet, guero, let me finish telling it!” and then comes the worst part, the phantom pressure on his lips, borne out as Vasquez had given up on his tale in favor of tipping them over the edge of the praecipe they’d been dancing on since Rose Creek.

For one glorious moment in it had been perfect. Despite, or maybe because of, his initial surprise, Faraday had melted into the kiss like he was made for it, opening his mouth without a second thought to let Vasquez slip his tongue inside, while his own hands had come up to bury themselves in Vasquez’s hair, basking in the feel of the silken curls twining around his fingers.

Then of course Faraday had ruined it all. He’d let reality come crashing back in, panic over what it all might have meant settling low and heavy in his gut, and he’d shoved Vasquez away with his heart thundering in his chest. All he’d been thinking at the time was that it was too big a risk, changing things like this, better they continue on as they had been, rather than try this and later find out it didn’t work.

Only instead of saying that, he’d done what he’s always done best.

“I should’ve stayed,” he murmurs back in the present. “I should’ve told him that he wasn’t in the wrong, and it was just me panickin’ like the coward I am. Too damned scared of a good thing to actually let it happen to me for once. Fuckin’ foolish, all of it.”

Jack snorts expansively, which Faraday takes to mean is his way of absolving him of any blame. “Thanks, fella,” he says, “but we both know I’m right.” Vasquez never would have felt the need to take off on his own if Faraday hadn’t made him feel like he’d done something wrong. He raises his head and looks the horse dead in the eye. “Even if Vas if alive, he’s somewhere miserable, and that’s all my fault.”

 _If_ , his traitorous brain tells him, hissing the word like a cruel taunt over and over again. _If if if - is there anything out there worse than the concept of ‘if’?_ Faraday can’t be sure, but right in the here and now he thinks not. He’s imagined dozens of what if scenarios since this nightmare had begun, each one more unlikely than the last, and all this is doing is adding one more into the mix. It’ll be like all the mornings he’s woken up, not yet fully coherent and looked around for Vasquez to no avail, only a thousand times worse.

“I can’t.” He says fiercely. “Fuck, I can’t do this.”

Except he has to because if, and there’s that damnable word again, if Vasquez is alive, then Faraday has to go to him. There’s no questioning that. Even if it turns out that the man never wants to see him again, at least he’ll be alive and free to make that call.

“God,” Faraday breathes then, the word coming out so heavily it sets Jack’s mane moving. “I don’t know if I’m comin’ or goin’.”

“Just so long as you’re not goin’ anywhere on your own, that’s fine,” a voice says, and Faraday turns to find Sam standing in the barn doorway. “Sorry, the others said I probably shouldn’t follow you, but I was gettin’ concerned.”

“It’s fine,” Faraday tells him, ignoring all evidence to the contrary. “I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.” Sam says. He moves further into the building, not stopping until he’s come to rest almost directly beside Faraday. “You look like shit, and I suspect you feel even worse. I have to tell you, I expected you to be happier about this.”

“There’s nothin’ to be happy about.” Faraday replies. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s still dead.”

Sam’s eyebrows go up in surprise, and he looks like he’s about two seconds away from clapping a fatherly hand on Faraday’s shoulder. “You don’t think the deputy was tellin’ the truth?”

Faraday shrugs. “He probably was. It fits with everythin’ else that’s gone down.”

“Then why -?”

“Because if I start actin’ like he’s alive and it turns out not to be the case, I don’t know what’s goin’ to happen,” Faraday snaps. Turning away from Sam, he takes a number of calming breaths and focuses his attention on Jack. “I don’t think I could handle that. I’ll come with you, of course I will, but until I have livin’ proof before me then Vas is dead and that’s all there is to it.”

The shoulder clasp when it comes is exactly what he’d been expecting, and all the more comforting because of it. “Alright, son,” Sam says firmly. “You do what you need to do.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyoooo, updating sooner than I'd expected to be able to, yay! I'm not 100% satisfied with this part, but I think it's time for it to go up. 
> 
> Anyway, I am blown away by the response this fic has gotten so far. You are all amazing, and I hope you enjoy this latest update.

He's mid swing with a pickaxe when he hears the shouting start. Straightening out of the partial crouch he's been working in he tilts his head in the direction the sound had come from and waits to see if it'll happen again. When it does, he sets the axe against the rock wall of the mine and turns towards the entrance of the tunnel.

A few people shift to look at him as he walks past, but most remain staring straight ahead, focusing on their work in a blatant attempt to distance themselves from him. _We're not with him_ , the actions seem to say. _We're not troublemakers like him_.

And he has been something of a troublemaker since his arrival, he knows this. He's got the marks to prove it, more cuts and bruises from the guards' tender ministrations than any other three prisoners combined. If he wasn't so useful in the mines when he was working, he imagines they'd have done away with him long before now. He wouldn't be the first, after all. 

Unfortunately he seems to have developed a case of terminal nobility over the past year, or maybe he's always had it, he's not sure. What he does know is that, for all it'd be wiser and more likely to result in his own survival, his willingness to sit back and let the mine guards dole out their idea of deserved retribution evaporated the first time he'd seen one of them go for a prisoner who couldn't've been any older than seventeen.

His ribs still twinge occasionally from that encounter, though it'd been worth it all the same.

He's almost reached the mouth of the mine and the spot the noise is coming from when a callused hand shoots out and grips his forearm. "Vasquez. Don't."

Pausing, Vasquez glances down at the arm and then up at the face of the woman it belongs to. "Nadia," he says firmly. "Let go."

She does, but with an annoyed huff and an exasperated shake of her head. "He's only going to let it stand so many times. Rask _will_ kill you if you piss him off enough. Don't be so stupid."

Which was ironic coming from her. As one of only two women currently trapped in the compound, Nadia had been given the much more pleasant role of a servant up in the house. However, one too many instances of mouthing off to the wrong person had seen her thrown down here with the rest of the hard labourers, leaving only a young girl named Molly to act as a housemaid.

"You don't have to come," he tells her, dragging himself back from the path his thoughts have been trailing down. "I'll take care of it."

"That's the problem." She replies and turns back to her work. "You always go to take care of it, and one day someone's going to take care of you."

Shrugging, Vasquez keeps moving as he'd meant to before she'd stopped him. It is very possible he was going to get himself killed, likely even. On the other hand, escape has so far proven impossible, though not for lack of trying on his part, and if he has to die in this hellhole he'd rather it be on his feet and fighting than because of something as stupid as a mining accident or malnutrition.

He breaches the main tunnel entrance and blinks as his eyes adjust to the sunlight. Giving himself only a moment to let this happen, he zeroes in on the commotion, moving over to it without a second thought. 

Two of the guards are circling around a prone form while a third watches idly from several paces back. Vasquez recognizes the man - boy, really - they've decided to torment. A behemoth by the name of Timothy who'd been brought in only days earlier after landing in a jail cell for stealing. His size put Vasquez in the mind of old Jack Horne, but his personality was more akin to that of Teddy Q or even the schoolteacher's son, Anthony. He was soft and unlikely to survive here long without someone to watch out for him.

Wanting to make sure he has the guards' attention he spits out an incredibly rude burst of Spanish that thankfully no one else understands, grinning when all three of them immediately focus on him. He lopes over in a series of easy strides, like he hasn't a care in the world and doesn't know he's taking his life in his hands by approaching them.

The two guards who'd been actively partaking in this bit of fun step back a pace or two, putting themselves more in line with their fellow. Vasquez knows a ringleader when he sees one, so he nods amicably at the guard who hasn't moved, all while flashing his best grin as he comes forward to put himself bodily between the three men and their quarry. 

"And what do you think you're doing, muchacho?" The leader asks finally. "As I recall we put you down the tunnels today, and nobody's allowed out of there without permission."

Vasquez scowls inwardly at the nickname - there's only one person he lets get away with calling him that, and this man is decidedly not him - but knows better than to let his ire show on his face. What's about to happen is going to hurt badly enough without him making it worse.

"Wanted to see what all the noise was about," he rumbles, keeping his voice low. 

"That ain't any of your business," one of the other guards snaps. Vasquez thinks this one is called Jim or James or something equally stupid, but most of them aren't overly forthcoming with their names. He's learned which ones to avoid mostly by sight. "Get back where you belong or you'll be in more trouble than your friend here."

"He's not my friend. I don't even know him." Vasquez's eyes briefly snap down to Timothy. Taking in the way the boy is protectively cradling his left wrist, he bites down on a growl. "I do know Rask won't like it if you make it so he can't work."

“Ohh, look at that, boys.” The lead guard snickers. “Our friend here thinks he’s the one giving the orders. We can’t have that now, can we?”

“Nope,” says the third and final guard. Vasquez knows for a fact this one is called Ezra. He’s felt the brunt of his fists on more than one occasion. “Forget the kid, I say we show this one what happens to them who mouths off.”

Ah, so it's going to be like that then, Vasquez thinks as they close in on him. Well, he can't say that he's surprised.

*****

"You are an _idiot_ ," Nadia tells him later. She dunks a scrap of rag into the small bit of water she's scrounged from somewhere, hopefully not her own meager rations, and proceeds to dab none to gently at the cut on his lip. "I told you they'd make you regret it."

She draws the cloth back, and Vasquez uses the distance to spit out a mouthful of bloody saliva. Wrinkling his nose at the taste, he stops moving when Nadia glares at him. "I'm surprised you're willing to sit near me," he says instead. "Aren't you afraid of being labeled an instigator too?"

"Is that what they called you?" She asks. Soaking the cloth again, she rings it out and makes a face when the water takes on a pink hue. "I guess they had to justify this to Rask somehow."

"Nobody has to justify anything to Rask. Not unless they kill one of us," he grumbles. 

"Which is going to happen to you one of these days if you don't stop this," she points out. "Rask's had men put down before, and you know it. That's what murderers do."

"Thought we were the murderers?" Vasquez mutters. "Isn't that why we're here?"

Nadia gives him an exasperated look, but returns to tending his wounds without comment. Lack of proper medical care, or any medical care for that matter, was a huge problem for those of them trapped in the compound. Infection was a constant threat with any injury, and they frequently had to take care of themselves on their own.

"I ain't no murderer," she says finally, her head still bowed over her work. "My so called husband had it comin'."

Having no reply for that, Vasquez keeps his mouth shut while regretting bringing it up in the first place. Most of the prisoners Rask has chosen to work his mine were guilty of fairly minor offences, theft featuring prominently among them. As for those of them with warrants for more serious acts, people like him, people like Nadia, they tended to have been acting in self-defence. Rask had largely avoided choosing the most vicious of criminals, no doubt because he felt they'd be too hard to control.

Movement off to the side catches his eyes, and Vasquez turns slightly to see Timothy cautiously approaching them. That's somewhat surprising as most of the prisoners tend to avoid him and Nadia as a matter of course, not wanting to be seen associating with them, but the boy meets Vasquez's eye when he realizes he's been spotted and crosses the rest of the distance between them with his shoulders squared and his jaw locked.

He sits down on Vasquez's other side, across from Nadia, chewing his bottom lip in an obvious desire to say something. Vasquez knows a tell when he sees one. He's had plenty of them pointed out to him by the best.

"You need something, niño?" He asks, and when that doesn't work, "How is your arm?"

Startled, Timothy glances down at the limb in question, flexing it hesitantly. "It's fine," he mumbles after what feels like a small eternity has passed. "Thank you."

"For what? For this?" Vasquez gestures down at himself, at the split lip and the new bruises blooming all along the left side of his torso. At least they'd largely left his face alone this time. His second day here he'd taken a blow that had seen his right eye swell shut and make being down in the mine quite difficult. "This is nothing. It's fine."

Nadia makes a tetching sound and swipes at his lip again, making him hiss. "Don't lie to the kid, Vasquez. It sets a poor example."

"I'm already a terrible example, señora," Vasquez huffs, laughing a little when she glares at him. Her face is too serious, however, and his laughter fades as he's met with a burst of longing for a pair of green eyes that always held mirth at his antics no matter how ridiculous. He takes the cloth from her hand to distract himself. “I can finish this. You’ve done enough.”

Scowling at him for the umpteenth time, Nadia sits back on her heels and gives him an unimpressed look, after which she turns to Timothy. “He’s always like this. The stupid bastard loves throwing himself in front of the guards when they’re havin’ fun with somebody else.”

“Why?” Timothy asks.

Vasquez is half tempted to brush off the question, but the look on the boy’s face makes him change his mind. This one wants the truth, and Vasquez supposes he can hand it over. “Because most of the people down here do not know how to take a blow. I do.”

Timothy frowns at this. “I don’t understand.”

From her place on Vasquez’s other side, Nadia snorts. “What’s not to understand? He’s a noble idiot. Fuckin’ terminally stupid. He knows he can’t get out of here, so he’s fighting back any way he can. Standing his ground and taking on punishments meant for others.”

“The guards don’t care who they hit, so long as they get to hit somebody.” Vasquez points out. “There are very few ways to be rebel in a place such as this, let me do as I please, Nadia.”

“And when they finally decide enough is enough?” She asks.

He shrugs in return. “I only talk until they leave whoever they’re bothering alone. So long as I don’t hit back, it is fine. They won’t damage me past the point of being able to work.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Vasquez.” Nadia says. “What about when they decide they don’t want to humour you anymore?”

His shrug this time is far less lackadaisical, and he finds himself thinking of things he’d rather not, of people he’d rather not. “Then at least I will die on my feet and at my own choosing.”

Throwing her hands up in disgust, Nadia leans back against the wall of the prisoner’s barracks and glares at the ceiling.

*****

Goody's become so engrossed in the book he has spread open on his lap that he doesn't immediately register the sound of the disturbance taking place on the floor below them. It's not until he hears a sudden splash of water that he looks up to see something going on.

"You alright, cher?" He asks, noting that while Billy hasn't yet climbed out of the tub he's been soaking in, using a rare moment of respite in a larger than average city to order a hot bath and wash away the grime of the road, he's gotten a hold of the knife he always keeps within reach, even at times such as this.

Billy gives him a look that's one part amused one part exasperated. "Don't tell me you don't hear that," he says, and it's only now that Goody has his attention grabbed by the sound of raised voices rising up from downstairs. He grins sheepishly.

"I was enjoying my book?" He suggests, holding up the object in question as if it might serve as an excuse for his lack of proper awareness.

Billy's expression morphs into something considerably more fond, the kind of look that makes Goody's heart stutter. He still doesn't think he's entirely deserving of such looks, or of anything Billy seems fit to gift him with to be honest, but he's man enough to admit he's never going to push the man away. He's learned that lesson and learned it well.

"The way you can get lost in those things will never cease to amaze me," Billy says, snapping Goody out of the reverie he's wandered off to. "However, I think you should put it down for now. It sounds like there might be trouble starting up."

Goody snorts at this. "I'll leave my book be when you climb out of that tub, dearest. I can't help but notice how, for all your apparent concerns, you've made no move to leave your nice, hot bath."

Billy rolls his eyes and settles more firmly back in the tub, his posture making it clear he's just determined the matter to be one of principle. "I'll have you know I'm fully capable of taking on a whole horde of enemies exactly as I am."

"That I never doubted," Goody replies solemnly, cracking a smile when Billy responds with a firm nod. He's halfway considering making an offer to join his partner when there's a flurry of knocking at their door.

"Mr. Robicheaux," says a concerned voice he belatedly recognizes as belonging to the young maid who'd drawn the bath, "begging your pardon, Sir, but the owner's asking for you to come quick."

Surprised to say the least, Goody shares a brief glance with Billy before getting up off the bed and stepping over to the door. Flicking the lock back, he pulls it open just enough that the girl on the other side can see him and not Billy, figuring it wouldn't do to have her catch that much of an eyeful.

"I'm sorry?" He says slowly, blinking as the girl stares up at him with wide, worried eyes. "What's this about, miss?"

The maid gulps and bounces up and down on her toes. Whatever's going on downstairs, it's clearly got her worked up something fierce. "An Indian just came into town, sir! Road right up Main Street and asked for you and Mr. Rocks by name. He's outside now, and I don't think he's going away until he sees you."

Water sloshes behind Goody's back, signalling that Billy's up and moving. Not bothering to look to check, Goody nods at the maid instead. "We'll be down in a moment."

She responds with a grateful nod of her own, and then tears off down the hallway, no doubt in search of the proper people to inform. Goody watches her go, frowning, before turning into the room.

He finds Billy already dressed and settling his belt of knives into place. "You really think you're going to need those?" He asks, gesturing at the knives with one hand. "You know as well as I do, that's got to be Red she's talking about, and he's no threat to us."

"Maybe not," Billy replies, "but I'm not going to believe it's Red until I see him. Plus, even if it is him, there's still the question of why he's here."

"Fair point," Goody acknowledges. "I don't imagine he's come all this way simply for a social call, and if he's by himself that begs the question of where the others are."

"Exactly." Billy agrees. "Bring a weapon."

Once they're both suitably attired they make for the stairwell, tromping down it with little concern. Goody notes that a number of heads turn to look at them as they pass, something he's sure Billy catches as well, and quickens his pace somewhat.

As expected, though the reason for his presence is yet unknown, they find Red Harvest just outside the building. He looks remarkably unconcerned for a man who's being glared at mistrustfully by half a dozen people, most of whom have their hands resting on weapons. In fact, he barely seems to notice the men surrounding him once he spots Goody and Billy.

Shouldering his way through the crowd, the fact that he's designed to move at all no doubt startling the men hovering about, Red walks towards Goody and Billy, meeting them halfway. "Good to see you." He says. "You were harder to find than I expected."

Goody shares a quick look with Billy, finding a confused frown that likely mirrors his own, before focusing on Red. "It's good to see you too, my friend. Although I'm sure you'll forgive me if I ask just what it is that's brought you here?"

For the first time since they'd spotted him, Red glances at the nearby strangers with something akin to concern. "We should talk privately. The situation is ... complicated."

His concern only deepening, Goody motions towards the staircase they've just come down. "We have a room on the second floor. You're welcome to come talk there."

Ignoring the startled murmuring that ensues after this announcement, Goody turns on his heel and puts action to words. Billy and Red both fall into step behind him, and the three of them march up the steps.

No one says a word until they’re back in the room. Only once the door is shut and safely latched behind them does Goody catch Red's eye. He gives the younger man one of his more stern looks as he says, "Not to sound rude, but what brings you here?"

Red lets his gaze flick back and forth between Goody and Billy a few times until he huffs out a sigh. Crossing his arms over his chest, he dips his head down looking unhappy. "Sam sent me. We think Vasquez is in trouble."

"You think." Billy says flatly. Next to him Goody keeps quiet because he has so many possible response he can't decide on just one.

"We think." Red repeats. Then he frowns and shakes his head. "Actually we hope. If he's not in trouble then he's already dead."

Billy hisses through his teeth, and that's enough to get Goody talking again. He gestures Red towards one of the two chairs in the room, moving to settle himself down on the bed. Billy he knows will do as he pleases, as is evident from the way the man shifts to lean with his back against the window.

"You'd better start from the beginning." Goody says as they all stop moving. "Tell us everything."

*****

“Old friend, we have got to stop meeting like this.” Sam looks up at the sound of a familiar voice, and finds Goody striding towards him, seemingly having appeared out of nowhere.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sam replies, letting out a low whistle. “I didn’t even hear you comin’. When’d you get here?”

“Just now.” Goody replies. He strides forward until he can wrap Sam up in the usual bear hug they’ve always greeted each other with, eventually stepping back with a somber expression on his face. “Billy’s getting the horses settled with Red. I figured I’d come find you in the meantime. It sounds like we’ve got a hell of a mess on our hands this time.”

Sam lets out a derisive snort, trust Goody to find a way to underestimate things. “That’s one way of puttin’ it,” he acknowledges. “I take it Red filled you in on everythin’?”

“As much as could be,” Goody replies grimly. He gestures with one arm, and together they begin the trek back from the small creek where Sam had been sitting to catch a moment to himself. “Although, I have to say, he didn’t have much in the line of details – mainly that Faraday and Vasquez got separated at some point, and Vasquez may or may not have wound up in some kind of prison camp.”

Now Sam winces. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, and I’m goin’ to suggest you be careful with what you say around Faraday. You seen him yet?” Most times when Faraday went missing he could be found communing with his horse, but Goody would have seen him upon riding up if that were currently the case.

“No. Horne was tending the fire when we rode up, but Faraday was nowhere around.” He frowns, tapping an errant finger against his chin. “Red may have mentioned that Joshua’s somewhat out of sorts. He really that badly off?”

“You really have to see him to understand.” Sam shrugs as he searches for the best words to describe Faraday’s behaviour of late. “I think they had some kind of fight where Vasquez took off, and now Faraday’s convinced himself what’s happened is all his fault. It’s … bad.”

“Well, I know a thing or two about guilt,” Goody says slowly. His face clouds over momentarily as he no doubt pictures events that have long since passed. “With luck we’ll just go get Vasquez back and fix that problem right up.”

Not sure that’s going to be enough, but equally unwilling to say so, Sam gives his friend a quick shoulder clasp as they approach the spot where the rest of their fellows are clustered around the fire Jack had built up when the sun had begun to set a little while ago. “Billy,” he says with a nod when he catches sight of their other newcomer. “Good to see you.”

Billy nods in return, but remains silent. His only other action is to shuffle sideways slightly as Goody walks over to sit down beside him.

Sam spots Red moving along the edge of the campsite, and Jack hasn’t moved from the spot he’d been resting in when Sam had first set off for the creek. That only leaves one member of their party unaccounted. “Where’s Faraday?”

“Right here,” a voice says behind him. Sam has no idea how Faraday had managed to sneak up on him, the man’s not exactly known for being stealthy, but he supposes he’s been a lot quieter of late. “We all here now?”

“We certainly seem to be.” Sam says, watching carefully as Faraday picks a spot slightly away from the fire and reclines back into it. “I was just about to catch the boys up on what we’ve learned.”

Faraday makes a motion that’s one part shrug one part indifferent wave, almost as if he doesn’t have the energy to commit to either or so he just winds up with a mishmash of both. It’s another item to add to the growing list of reasons Sam’s worried about him. “Did you want to do it?”

“Nah, that’s fine.” Faraday repeats the same motion from before and crosses one leg over the other. “Have at it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam sees Goody and Billy exchange glances at this, though neither of them speaks up. Clearing his throat, he waits until all eyes are on him, then starts talking. “While Red was off lookin’ for you boys, we’ve been busy ourselves.”

“We noticed,” Goody says with a low chuckle. “And can I just say that I love how you’ve decided to post yourselves all the way out here when there’s a perfectly serviceable town little more than a day’s ride away.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Sam assures him. “We did some scoutin’ in the town first. Found out that although Rask has a house over by his mine, where I’ll note we _haven’t_ been yet, he wanders into town about once a week or so for a little civilized comfort. We didn’t want him spottin’ us, or gettin’ word of a bunch of strangers hangin’ around, so we came out here once we had the locations we were after.”

“So where do we come in?” Billy asks. His voice rises the merest fraction, suggesting he has an idea of Sam’s plan for them and isn’t sure how he feels about that.

“We know where Rask’s place is, but nothing about the defences it has.” Sam says, tacitly acknowledging where Billy’s thought process is going. “We need to get someone inside. Preferably two someones.”

“By which you mean us.” Billy says flatly, sounding even more unimpressed than usual.

“I do.” Sam agrees. “You’re the best choice, or, well, Goody is.”

Goody makes a surprised face at this, but almost immediately it smooths out into one of understanding. “You want me to make friends with the son of a bitch, don’t you?”

“Think about it,” Sam tells him. “You’ve got the kind of reputation that is only going to appeal to a man like this. I know you hate the notion of the Angel of Death, but I think we could use him on this one.”

Goody continues to look thoughtful while Billy levels Sam with a scowl that’s impressive even for him. “That’s dangerous.”

“Of course it is,” Sam acknowledges. “I don’t disagree with you, but it’s also the best idea we can come up with.” He sits back and spreads his hands out wide, taking in all six of them clustered around the fire. “This isn’t like Rose Creek, boys, we don’t have eyes on the inside and a full map of the mine’s layout. We’ve got no idea what kind of manpower Rask has, how many people might be trapped in that compound, or proof that Vasquez is even alive. We need all of those things before we make our move.”

Billy looks like he’s giving serious thought to testing out the state of his knives on Sam when Goody places a calming hand on his arm. “Easy, cher,” the cajun says quietly. “You know everything Sam’s saying makes sense.”

“We thought about maybe staking out the mine and grabbing one of Rask’s men,” Jack throws in, “but that runs the risk of alerting him someone’s here. It also wouldn’t necessarily get us honest answers to our questions.”

Goody snorts at this. “You don’t say? And here was me thinking captured personnel would be so forthcoming with the information we need.”

“That’s enough of your lip, Robicheaux,” Sam tells him with a crooked grin. He casts a quick glance over to where Faraday’s curled in on himself in his spot away from the rest of the group. Sighing, he lets the levity fade from his voice and squares his shoulders and focuses back on Goody and Billy. “I know it’s not a perfect plan, but it’s the best one we’ve got for now.”

“It’s also the only one we’ve got,” Red adds helpfully, and shrugs when the rest of them turn to stare at him. “Well it is.”

“Talk like that is why Jack likes to call you a little shit,” Goody huffs. “It’s truth in advertising.”

Red shrugs again, unperturbed, and scuffs at the ground with one foot. “Are we done yet?”

“Almost,” Goody replies. He cocks his head at Sam. “When did you want us to put this plan of yours into motion?”

“So long as Rask keeps to his usual schedule, he should be dining in town the day after tomorrow.” Sam says, laying out what little they’ve managed to find out so far. “I figure that’s as good a time as any.”

“Fair enough,” Goody says. “It’ll even give me a day to think about how I’m going to play this.”

“Well I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that,” Sam says with a half-grin. “We’ll leave you to it.”

*****

Faraday wakes from yet another poor sleep to find that Billy and Goodnight have already departed, and Sam and Jack have gone down to the nearby creek to see about maybe nabbing some fish for breakfast. Red relays all this with his usual taciturn flare where he’s sitting perched on a rock not far from the remnants of last night’s fire, fiddling with a bunch of arrows.

“Any reason why you didn’t go with Sam and Jack?” Faraday asks. He sits up slowly, unfurling out of his bedroll with little desire to do so since he’s got nothing to do while they wait to see how Goodnight and Billy make out. “You must be hungry.”

Red makes a dismissive sound, not looking up from his work. “Horne does terrible things to food. I’ve never been hungry enough to eat it.”

Faraday huffs out a tiny laugh, but sobers almost immediately as the reality of another day spent sitting around in one spot doing nothing sinks in. He’s still doing everything in his power to keep from getting his hopes up where Vasquez is concerned. The trouble is, without anything to actively be doing until it’s time to move on the mine, he’s got nothing to distract him and keep his mind from wandering.

“Are the scars bothering you?”

Startled, Faraday glances over at Red and quirks an eyebrow at him. “Hmm? Sorry, what?”

Red, who’s torn his attention away from his arrows while Faraday wasn’t looking, brings a hand up and gestures at his own chest. “You keep,” he rubs two fingers in the middle of his chest, not far below the column of his throat, tapping them a couple times for added emphasis, “doing that. I thought maybe your bullet scars were aching.”

Faraday drops his hand like it’s been burned, his face heating as he realizes he’s been toying with Vasquez’s medallion again without thinking about it. “Uh, yeah,” he says, jumping on the out Red’s inadvertently given him. “They get sore sometimes, ‘specially when I’ve been sleepin’ rough.”

Distantly he hears Vasquez’s voice chiding him, saying a night in a real bed would be good for him, and then claiming that _he_ wanted to sleep in a town when Faraday had gotten his back up over the notion of being coddled. “You can stay out and suffer nobly if you want, guero,” he’d growled in the end, “but _I_ am staying somewhere I won’t get rained on for once.” Faraday’d caved not long after, just like he always did.

The sound of Red clearing his throat rings out, and Faraday banishes the memory from his mind as he shifts to pay attention to his companion. “Sorry,” he says again, “what was that?”

Red cocks his head to the side and stares at Faraday with unnerving intensity. “You’re distracted this morning.”

“No,” Faraday disagrees because the lack of distraction is his real problem. He adds with surprising honesty that he’ll later try to blame on his having only recently woken up, “but I would like to be.”

Red’s eyes widen minutely and the corners of his mouth turn down in a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“What isn’t?” Faraday asks, only to immediately decide that that _is_ too much oversharing. “Nah, never mind. I just don’t much like the idea of sittin’ around all day again with nothin’ to do. There's only so much time I can spend checkin' on my horse, you know?”

At this Red casts aside the bundle of items he’s been working with, setting them down next to him on the ground, and leans back to give Faraday a thoughtful look. “We need to know what’s happening at that mine – the men, the defences, if we’re even in the right place. To do that we need someone inside the mine. Knowing what we do of Rask, Robicheaux’s the best person to get close with him.”

“And Rocks can go anywhere he does by playin’ the ever attentive bodyguard bit,” Faraday finishes. “I know, I know, but that don’t mean I have to like being stuck sittin’ around here with my thumb up my ass.”

“I don’t see why it matters,” Red tells him. “All you were doing before was getting too drunk and starting fights. This is better.”

Faraday goes quiet at this, and something must show on his face because Red sighs heavily before thumping his hand down in the dirt next to him. “Come here.”

When all Faraday does is stare at him in confusion, he rolls his eyes and smacks the ground again. “I said come. If you’re going to sit here all day, you might as well be useful doing it.”

Hesitantly, Faraday shuffles over and then sits down where indicated, wondering why the hell he’s doing so the whole time. “What am I gettin’ into here?” He asks once he’s appropriately in place.

“Do you know anything about fletching arrows?” Red asks in turn, and Faraday stares at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Now why in the hell would I know anythin’ like that?” He demands, wondering what crazy thoughts are currently running through Red’s brain. “You ever seen me use a bow and arrow before? God invented guns for a reason, they’re a whole lot easier.”

“So you say,” Red replies, “and that’s fine. If you don’t know, I’ll just show you.”

Faraday eyes him warily. “Why? Chances are good anythin’ you let me work on won’t be fit for you to use.”

“Maybe not,” Red says with a shrug, “but it’ll keep you busy while you wait for Sam and Horne to get back with food.”

“And you think I need to be kept busy?” Faraday asks. He tries to make it sound like he doesn’t agree. He suspects he fails.

“Yes.” Red says simply. “When you are bored, you go looking for trouble. It’s annoying.”

Faraday snorts. “If you think I’m goin’ to be any less annoyin’ while I’m sittin’ right next to you, you’re out of your mind.”

“We’ll see.” Red holds up and arrow shaft between two fingers, and raises a questioning eyebrow at Faraday. After a moment’s hesitation, he reaches out and accepts it.

“I hope you know this isn’t goin’ to be pretty,” he grumbles.

“We’ll see.” Red says again.

*****

If there's one thing to be said of Sam Chisolm it's that he can predict how people react to certain stimuli down to the letter. When Goody and Billy arrive at the highbrow restaurant that William Rask visits every week like clockwork, all they have to do is drop the name of the Angel of Death and suddenly they're being shown to one of the best tables in the house with quite a bit of pomp and circumstance. 

Goody, the jackass that he is, takes a seat with his back to the table that houses Rask and his men. It's a deliberate show of ignorance that sets Billy's teeth on edge even though he can't fault Goody for the logic behind it. The more unassuming they appear, the more likely it is they'll be able to get Rask to trust them.

Making an annoyed face that only Goody can read, Billy takes up position beside him, deliberately leaving the chairs on the other side of the table open. As the waiter bustles off to find them some menus, he growls low under his breath. "If it turns out he sees you as a rival and not a man to cosy up to, I am going to be very upset."

Goody nudges him gently with a knee under the table. "That's fine, cher," he murmurs too quietly for anyone else to pick up. "You're at your happiest when you've got something to be annoyed about. Now hush, we've got a show to put on."

A show to put on, a game to play, Goody can call it what he likes. What it boils down to is they've got to earn Rask's trust if they're to have any hope of getting a look inside his compound. Billy might not like the plan, but he does see the logic behind it.

Falling silent like he's perfected over the years, he settles back in his chair in a way that looks relaxed and therefore hides how he's taking in all the potential exits and defensive positions. There's no reason this afternoon should turn into anything other than a simple meal and some possible new communication, but that won't stop him from being ready for the worst. After all, they're no good to Vasquez if they're dead.

The waiter returns with a pair of menus, and Goody, slipping into character, holds up a hand. They've already discussed the roles they'll be playing here in depth, or in Goody's case apologized profusely for, and it's time to put them on display. "I only need the one, thank you. My assistant here won't be eating." He puts a slight emphasis on the word 'assistant', and the waiter stiffens noticeably.

"Of course, sir," the man says, and Billy can see it as he slips from the category of unexpected friend to exotic bodyguard in the man's mind. It's exactly what they'd been hoping for, for all that it's a pain in the ass in other circumstances. "Is there anything in particular you'd like to try?"

"What do you recommend?" Goody asks, and off they go. The waiter makes a number of suggestions, all of them fitting under the umbrella of 'most expensive' on the menu, while Goody nods along affably until he places an order. 

As the waiter bustles off a second time, Billy barely contains a snort. "Ingrate," he mutters in the man's wake.

"Talk like that is why Sam says you spend too much time around me," Goody murmurs back. They're in a secluded enough spot in the restaurant that they can talk freely so long as they're careful about it. "How long do you reckon before he makes a move? If he makes one at all that is."

Figuring Goody's referring to Rask and not their intrepid waiter friend, Billy shrugs minutely. "Give it a while yet. Word has to spread that you're in here first."

Goody makes an annoyed sound under his breath, but otherwise does a good job of hiding his frustrations. Billy knows he's no happier with this part of the plan than Billy himself is, yet they both recognize the logic behind it. Making Rask think they're on his side will go a long way towards helping Vasquez.

Provided of course that he's still alive to be helped.

Brushing that thought aside, Billy returns to his earlier pastime of cataloguing all the possible exits and best defensive positions. He's in the middle of calculating the odds of them surviving a jump from the large bay window when their waiter materializes back into existence sooner than expected with a drink in one hand.

"I don't recall ordering that," Goody says mildly, and the waiter nods his head in agreement.

"No, sir, you didn't," he says in a rush. Billy doesn't know if the man's always this antsy or if it's because they’re here or Rask is here or both, but the nervous energy is quickly becoming tiresome. "Mr. Rask told me I should bring it to you. He said it was only appropriate that you be treated with respect thanks to your war efforts."

Goody's face twitches minutely, and Billy will bet all the money he has on him that his partner has just bit the inside of his cheek to prevent an automatic denial of his 'war efforts' from coming out. It's what Goody always does when someone talks like this, but it's not safe to correct him. Honestly, Billy suspects that having to pretend to be proud of his reputation is going to be the hardest part of this mission for Goody. them

Thankfully, the moment passes and Goody's face smooths out into an amicable expression. Anyone who knows him well enough, and there are none that know him better than Billy, can see it's fake, but it fools the waiter with no trouble.

"Well that's very kind of him," Goody says jovially in a voice that's riddled with false cheer. He reaches out to take the glass, but instead of drinking from it sets it down on the white linen tablecloth in front of him. "However, if I may ask, who exactly is this Mr. Rask? I can't say I've ever heard of him."

The waiter swallows heavily. "He's the man at the head of the table over there," he says, nodding behind them. "The one in the black suit with the full beard. He owns the mine just outside of town, but comes in here most weeks for a meal."

"I see," Goody says slowly. Not turning his head, he motions for Billy to look behind him. "What do you think?"

Looking back, Billy easily spots the man the waiter's referring too. He's big and broad, practically oozing wealth and self-confidence, and he's sequestered himself off slightly from the rest of the people at his table, making his status as their superior plain. Equally obvious are the two bodyguards flanking him from their position at the wall behind him.

Turning around, Billy catches Goody's eye and shrugs, the signal that indicates he figures this is their man. 

"Excellent," Goody says, snapping a finger at the waiter. "Do me a favour, boy. Go tell this Mr. Rask that, while I'm always happy to accept accolades such as this, I like to know who they're coming from. Ask him if he'd like to join my companion and I, won't you?"

The waiter bobs his head in acquiescence, although Billy notes he doesn't look thrilled by this, and hustles off to do Goody's bidding, while the man in question leans back in his seat and huffs out a quiet breath. "Showtime, eh, cher?" He murmurs, briefly closing his eyes.

Knowing it'll be the last chance he gets before they're in this for real, Billy brushes his leg against Goody's, the touch meant to be grounding and to drag his partner back to the real world. He doesn't say anything, not when Rask could arrive at any moment, but he hopes it helps.

The waiter reappears soon after, this time with their quarry in tow. If Rask is annoyed at being summoned over to them, it doesn't show, especially not as he extends a large hand in Goody's direction, smiling broadly. "William Rask at your service, Mr. Robicheaux. You'll have to forgive me if I seem a little out of sorts. I sent the drink over to be polite, didn't much figure it'd be enough to score me an invite to your table."

Billy instantly sees through the false cheer. There's no way this man is as easy going as he's currently pretending, not with the way his eyes are calculating everything happening in front of him. This is a front to see where it gets him with the Angel of Death.

Lucky for him, it's exactly the response they'd been hoping for. Standing so that he's more on the newcomer's level, Goody shakes the proffered hand, and then gestures down at the table. "Charmed to be sure. I don't suppose you'd like to join us?"

Rask's grin gets impossibly broader, indicating he'd like nothing better, and he nods agreeably. "I'd be honoured," he says smoothly, pointedly not taking a chair until Goody's seated again. 

"You're sure I'm not stealing you away from something important?" Goody asks, reviving a head shake in answer.

"No," Rask says firmly. "I come in here just for myself about once a week. It's nice to take a break. I find it helps me focus on work when I head back."

"Yes," Goody says, jumping on the perfect opening. "I'm told you run a mine outside of town."

"That I do," Rask replies. "And to be fair, I've got quite the nice set up, all the comforts of home and the ability to properly oversee things in one place. However, I do miss the city every now and then. Not that this place is much of a city, mind you."

"I've certainly seen bigger," Goody agrees, finally picking up the glass Rask had previously sent over, and dipping it towards him for a second. "Thank you for this by the way," he says and then takes a sip.

Rask waves a dismissive hand. "Again, it’s no trouble. Although," he adds dubiously, "perhaps I should have ordered something for your friend as well." He puts a questioning tone on the word 'friend', clearly fishing for information.

Unbothered, Goody rises to the occasion, as he makes it clear what roles they're playing tonight. "Billy doesn't drink while he's working," he says simply, making it evident in one fell swoop that 'friend' was not the correct term to be used - even if it did have a nicer ring to it than 'servant'.

"Ah." Rask says, and there's a world of unpleasantness lurking in his tone as it becomes evident he's seen something of a kindred spirit in the persona Goody's putting on. "I see."

"I doubt it," Goody says coolly. "Billy might not be as flashy as the fellows you've got lurking back at your table, but he gets the job done."

"And what's the job?" Rask wonders. "If you don't mind my asking?"

"Whatever I want."

“Ah,” Rask says again. “That kind of job. I’ve got a few workers like that myself. They’re so helpful when it comes to dealing with the more unpleasant aspects of my business ventures.”

Goody snorts, but Billy knows that inside he’s gleefully jumping on the opening Rask’s just given him. “You’ll have to forgive me, my friend, but I can’t imagine you find much in the line of difficult business ventures when you own the local mine. By my reckoning, you probably do just fine for yourself.”

“Oh, I do, I do,” Rask says expansively, waving a hand to further accent his point. “However, it’s a question of doing everything I can to maximize my profits, you know?

“Of course,” Goody agrees, “but judging by the look of you, I’d say you’re doing alright.”

Rask gives him a broad grin that Billy would dearly love to carve off the man’s face. “I manage to get by.” He tilts his head to the side, scrutinizing them both. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in stopping by while you’re in town? Your associate would be welcome as well, of course. We could have meal, and a taste of good old fashioned southern hospitality.”

“Well now, how could I say no to that?” Goody asks with a laugh. He takes a hearty swig from the glass in his hand. “As it happens, I’ve no real plans for the immediate future, and I’d been intending to stay in town for at least a few days to rest up before hitting the road again. I suppose I could be talked into a meal. Shall we say tomorrow afternoon?”

Nodding affably, Rask pushes his chair back and moves to stand. “That’ll work fine. However, if you’ll excuse me, I should be getting back to my original dinner companions. Feel free to ride over when you come tomorrow, I’ll see to it that your horses are stabled and my people know to expect you.”

Goody nods in return and offers his hand to shake, which Rask takes eagerly. Then he and Billy both watch as their new acquaintance returns to his own table. Only once they’re certain neither he nor anyone else is within earshot does Billy speak up again.

“How long do you want to wait before I let the others know we’ve made contact?”

“Hmm.” Goody thinks it over, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Let’s make sure he’s not staying in town overnight. If he’s not then you can set out a bit after he’s gone.”

“And you’ll keep your head down until I get back?” Billy asks, his voice picking an insistent edge. They’d decided only one of them would play the role of messenger today, with Billy being the better choice given his stealth skills, though he’s somewhat concerned about leaving Goody alone for that time.

For his part Goody waves an errant hand. “I promise I’ll be on my best behaviour. I’ve no intention of rocking the boat when we’re in the middle of a job.”

Billy casts him a sideways glance, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You think we’re on to something too then,” he says.

“I do,” Goody murmurs. He takes another sip from the drink Rask had given him, and remembers the look on the man’s face when he’d talked about maximizing profits. There was something going on here alright. They just needed to find out the pertinent details.

*****

Morning dawns as it always does, too early and with one of the guards rattling the door of the prison barracks, demanding they all be on their feet by the time he gets it open. Blinking sleep out of his eyes, Vasquez scrambles to obey, not wanting to start the day off with some form of punishment for being too slow for the guard's like him. The others around him do the same thing, and everyone is standing by their respective sleeping pallets by the time the bolt slides back and the door is pushed open.

Vasquez bites back a groan as he recognizes one of the guards who'd had his fists on him the other day. It's never a good thing to come to someone's attention so soon in this place, and he resolves to be on his best behaviour lest the man make a play for him due to some imagined slight.

The guard's eyes pass over him with no more of a spark of recognition than he gives any of the other prisoners, causing Vasquez to breathe a quiet sigh of relief as he shuffles into place to be ushered towards to the so-called mess tent. Contrary to what Nadia believes, he doesn't go out of his way to start fights and is happy enough keeping his head down. It's just that he's not about to let someone who's defenceless suffer needlessly.

Breakfast is as always an unpleasant affair. Vasquez can only assume no one's ever told Rask that meagre, poor quality rations are unlikely to keep people fit to work. He ate better when he was alone and on the run, sometimes going entire days with nothing to put in his stomach.

"Y'know no one's goin' to take it from you, right?" Unbidden, Vasquez has a sudden shock of memory back to a night in a saloon where he'd been hunched protectively over his meal, tearing into a roll and using it to sop up the gravy remnants costing his plate, while Faraday had watched him with something that might be considered worry on anyone else's face. "Jesus wept, but you're disgustin' when you eat."

He'd said the words with every indication he was simply making conversation, only to offer Vasquez his untouched dinner roll not long after, the look in his eyes screaming for Vasquez not to make a big deal of it even though they'd both known it was one. And then he'd still looked surprised when Vasquez had kissed him not two hours later.

God but Vasquez misses him at times, misses him even more than the weight of his colts at his hips or the medallion his mother had given him around his throat. Never mind how they'd parted ways, Vasquez had gotten used to always having Faraday in his corner, his presence a steady reminder that he wasn't alone, for all that the man himself was something akin to a wild animal with a nose for trouble.

This place has taken everything he had, everything that was his, and there's nothing he can do about it. Lashing out in his own way is all well and good, but it doesn't change the fact that in the end he's still entirely at his captor's mercy.

It's with thoughts like this chasing themselves around in his brain that he gets up to head for the mine, prodded along by the guard's less than gentle overtures. 

Nadia catches his eye as they're handed their tools for the day - obviously these have to be kept safely locked away when not in use, in case some prisoner entertain the wild notion of using them as weapons - her face pinched in a way that suggests she's concerned. He ignores her when she tries to speak to him, however, choosing instead to heft the pickaxe over his shoulder and step into the mine without a word. With luck he can lose himself in the mindlessness of manual labour.

He's always liked working with his hands, and had in fact made a living doing it before a chance encounter with a ranger who thought a hapless Mexican wouldn't fight back if threatened had landed him with a warrant on his head and a life on the run. Carpentry had always been his preferred trade, however, and he finds himself wishing that it was the malleable form of wood he was dealing with today, instead of unforgiving rock.

Faraday'd gifted him with a carving knife one night a few weeks after the two of them had started travelling together. He'd claimed to have won it in a poker game and said he had no use for it himself. Vasquez hadn't called him out on it, but the knife had been brand new, not the kind of item a man would willingly put at risk in a simple game of cards. He'd lost it along with everything else when he'd been thrown in jail.

Swearing low under his breath, Vasquez gives a vicious swing of the pickaxe, wondering what's wrong with him today. He's usually better at keeping intrusive thoughts from invading his days, if not always his nights. Maybe this place has finally gotten to him.

Through sheer force of will he succeeds in shoving his memories away for the time being, and focuses entirely on the work before him. Hours pass in a mindless haze, the one notable event being when a guard passes through with the single set of water rations they get during the day, and it's well into the afternoon when his attention is grabbed by something that has nothing to do with labour.

There’s shouting going on further down the compound, and for once Vasquez isn’t the first one to go investigating. The noise is worse than usual, more heavily laced with violence and anger than with the guard’s normal taunts, with more parties involved than is common. In fact, a number of guards go racing down the tunnel in search of the commotion, and after a moment several prisoners follow, Vasquez among them.

He finds a number of guards surrounding one of the longest tenured prisoners. He’d been on the frail side when Vasquez had first arrived, and had lately been getting weaker and weaker as a result of being worked too hard. There’s a pile of overturned ore on the ground next to him, leading Vasquez to suspect that the man’s body had finally given out after too much exertion. Even worse, it looks like the guards have decided to use this failure to continue on as an excuse to make an example out of someone.

This isn’t like the incident with Timothy had been. There the guards had just been having some fun, but would have pulled back before doing any serious damage. Plus, there’d only been the three of them. Today, however, there’s a whole crowd standing around jeering and rooting their fellows on. So many of them, in fact, that no one seems to care that many of the prisoners have come running to see what’s going on.

Vasquez knows full well it’s a mistake to wade into the fray so he can haul the guards off their intended victim. There’s a reason he’s always used words to antagonize them into coming for him, and then simply taken whatever punishment they’d seen fit to dole out. Unfortunately, this time they’re already in the middle of their fun and he knows they won’t pull back of their own accord.

Getting a grip on the nearest guard, he pulls him up and then shoves him away while he shifts to deal with the next one. He’s careful not to do more than that, doesn’t swing out like he’d love to on the off chance they’ll remember this when they inevitably turn their attention on him. Then he feels someone approaching at his back, and makes what’s likely to be a fatal error.

He reacts on instinct. Years of living on his own have given him defensive tactics that come out before he has a chance to think about their ramifications. As such, the moment he feels somebody trying to come at him from behind, his elbow comes up and catches the man right in the face. A sickening crack rings out in time with the guard’s pained howl, and Vasquez whirls around to see the man stumbling backwards, clutching his face while blood streams through his fingers.

Dimly recognizing the man who’d told him to mind his own business when Timothy had been in trouble, Vasquez feels a brief flush of satisfaction that’s immediately wiped out when a number of guards jump him. He loses sight of the prisoner he’d come over to help, hoping the man had managed to melt back into the crowd as matters had continued on, and loses thought of even that when another guard grabs him by the hair and viciously yanks his head upwards.

“You’ve done it now, you bastard,” the guard spits, his eyes alight with unabashed glee. “You’re goin’ on up to see Mr. Rask at the house, and I don’t imagine you’ll be back. Come on,” he says, further gesturing to a number of men around him, “get him movin’!”

Their eyes meet again as no less than three additional guards converge on the spot to follow the guard’s orders, and Vasquez, long past the point of caring since they’re just going to kill him anyway, spits in the man’s face.

*****

The place Rask calls home pales in comparison to the houses Goody had grown up around, but still manages to stick out like an ostentatious sore thumb on the land near the mine. It’s newly built, that much is obvious, and immediately puts Goody in mind of the phrase ‘trying too hard’. “This man,” he mutters as they ride up towards the front gates, “thinks he has far too much to prove. What an eyesore.”

Next to him, Billy grunts, the single sound all the commentary he’s willing to provide on the matter.

“Right then,” Goody decides, “I suppose we just head right on up to the front and see where we go from there.”

As it happens, there’re a couple of men waiting out front for them. They don’t look much like servants, putting Goody in mind more of hired guns than anything else, which could very well be exactly what they are, but they stand to something approaching attention as they watch the two men ride up. Once they’re within ear shot, one moves forward with a raised hand.

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” he says, letting his hand fall back to his side. “Mr. Rask told us to expect you. He said if you want you can hand your horses over to us. We’ll take them on up to the stables, and you can head inside the house.”

Goody frowns at this. It’s not the usual way to greet guests in these parts, and makes him suspect that Rask doesn’t come from money. There’s a good chance the man is creating a persona for himself as he goes along.

On the other hand, it’s not like he much cares how they get into the house, just that they do. So long as they have some kind of invitation, that’s good enough for him. As such, he nods at Billy, and they both dismount and press their horse’s reins into waiting hands.

The door opens as they step up to it, indicating that the men they’ve previously encountered weren’t the only ones watching for them. A young slip of a girl is behind it, and she hurriedly beckons them inside with a quiet, “Mr. Rask is on his way down.” Goody notes that she keeps her eyes down and never looks at them if she can avoid it, instantly putting him on edge.

However, judging by the way she flinches as a jovial voice booms out from up above them, he suspects her concerns have more to do with Rask than they do with himself or Billy. She scurries out of the way as they move further into the house, and Goody finds himself suddenly distracted by their host’s presence.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Robicheaux,” Rask says as he makes his way down the stairs. Goodnight can’t help but notice how he entirely dismisses Billy’s presence. He’s not the first person to make that mistake, and it’s one they might very well take advantage of in the near future.

"Afternoon, William," Goody says expansively. "We were just met by a few of your boys out front, and they told us to come on up. I have to say, they didn't look much like typical servants. What have you got cooking around these parts?"

Rask chuckles as he makes his way down the stairs. “You remember what I said yesterday? About how I’ve had to do everything possible to maximize my profits? Well, one of the things I’ve had to do is to resort to using prison labour to cut back on the costs here. That means I need some rather sturdy types working around the house. They double as a guard detail.”

“Prison labour,” Goody repeats. “You mean forced labour?”

Rask shrugs and gives Goody a toothy smile, unaware of how close he’s no doubt coming to having Billy jab a knife in his jugular. “You can’t tell me that a good old confederate boy like the Angel of Death has a problem with that?”

“Of course not,” Goody scoffs. “Though I am a little surprised to hear someone talk about such things so openly. Not everyone shares the same point of view, I’m afraid.”

“Oh it’s hardly abnormal,” Rask disagrees. “You just need to know the right people.”

“Mr. Rask,” Goody says with a laugh, “I have to say I’m impressed with your forwardness. I was under the impression we were here for a meal, and look where you’ve taken the conversation.”

“You’re right, of course,” Rask says with a laugh. He snaps his fingers, and the same girl from before ducks back into the room. “Let me have that coat of yours put away, Goodnight. There’s no need of it in here.”

Unable to think of a decent reason to stop the girl from taking it, Goody shrugs out of his coat and hands it over. She accepts it with a quick bob of her head, disappearing from the room as quickly as she’d arrived. Goody watches her go for a moment, but then Rask’s motioning for them to follow him so he trails after him instead.

Rask shows them into a well-furnished parlour, complete with a decorative braid rug spread across the floor. It’s the kind of unnecessary opulence one would never expect to find in a house built to loom over a nearby mine, and says plenty about the man who’d seen fit to put it there. Whether it’s because he comes from money or has recently earned it and is determined to show it off, William Rask wants to appear powerful.

It’s not the first time Goody’s come across men such as this. Hell, growing up in Louisiana his particular social circle had been rife with them. He hadn’t much cared for such antics then, and he cares for them even less when he’s in the middle of a job.

“I thought you’d mentioned giving us a tour of the mine,” he says as he and Rask settle into seats near a lovely open window, with Billy takes up position at his back. Looking outside all Goody can see is lush green grass and a couple of trees, as opposed to rocky outcrops and caves like one might expect so close to an operation like Rask’s. “I’ve got to say you’ve got me interested in seeing it.”

“What’s your hurry?” Rask asks with a laugh, inadvertently reminding Goody not to appear too interested in the mine lest he make the man think something is up. “I invited you here today for a meal. Sit back, relax, enjoy the fact that you’re not out on the open road for a while. My mine isn’t going anywhere any more than the poor bastards I have working in it.”

Rask trails off with a chuckle that makes Goody see red for all that he doesn’t let it show outwardly. The mine owner gets up to grab a glass decanter off a shelf and offers it up to Goody. “Brandy? I can promise you it’s a fair sight better than anything you’ll find in town.”

“Please.” Goody nods, and watches while Rask pours the two of them a drink, not missing how the man never once offers a glass to Billy. It seems their master/servant facade is working.

As soon as he has the drinks poured, Rask sets the decanter back on the shelf and crosses the room with a glass in each hand. Setting one down in front of Goody, he reclaims is previous seat and reclines back with one leg crossed over the other. “You should feel special,” he says with a laugh as he brings his own glass to his mouth, “I don’t usually wait on people, not even guests.”

“Oh?” Goody asks. He reaches for his own glass and takes a hearty swig. It’s potent stuff, he’ll have to be careful he doesn’t accidentally overindulge. “I’ll say this, I was expecting more house workers given the size of the place. I think I’ve only seen the one maid so far.”

“That’s because there is only the one,” Rask grunts with a scowl. “I had two, but the other one proved to be more strong willed than I cared to deal with. She’s down in the mines now, or at least I think she still is. No one’s told me she’s died anyway.”

Goody feels his hand clench reflexively around his class at such a callous display of indifference for human life, but once again manages to maintain control. If the maid Rask’s just mentioned is still alive then she’ll be set free along with everyone else. That’s all there is to it, and it’s the only comfort he has to offer himself for the moment.

A thought occurs to him as to how he might get more information about the people down in the mine. He takes another sip of his drink, swirling the cup idly in his hand after he’s done. “Do you have a lot of trouble with the works?” He asks slowly. “I’d wager prison convicts could be something of a problem where behaviour is concerned.”

“Not really,” Rask says, perking up at the chance to discuss his life spent ruling over other people. “I make a point not to choose the really dangerous ones when I go. I’ve got one or two with more bite to them than I’d like, but on the whole they’re just a pack of thieves and vagrants who were lucky enough to catch my eye.”

 _Lucky_ , Goody thinks sardonically, _I’ll bet my life savings the poor fellows would use a different term_. He keeps this thought hidden, however, and instead racks his brain for a question that might somehow lead them to Vasquez’s whereabouts. Coming up empty, he takes another drink. “I’d like to see it, regardless. I’m always impressed by the way men such as yourself can put together massive operations in the middle of nowhere.”

“It is something of a sight to see,” Rask agrees, pleased. Clearly he’s a man who likes having his ego stroked. “I promise I’ll take you over before you leave town. If we can’t make it today, you’re welcome to come back tomorrow for the tour.”

“Why thank you,” Goody says warmly. “As I said the other day, I’ve got no plans for the immediate future, and can kick around the town as long as I please.”

“Well then,” Rask says raising his glass with a grin, “here’s to having enough time to build new friendships.”

Goody allows himself to clink their glasses together and gives Rask an affable nod. “Here’s to that, indeed. Now,” he adds, settling back in his chair and trying to appear comfortable. “Tell me more about yourself. How did you happen come by this place?”

Eager to share the details, Rask launches into a story that Goody does his best to seem attentive to. It’s possible the man will let slip pertinent details of the mine, so he wants to keep sharp. On the other hand, Rask’s such an insufferable braggart it’s difficult not to start crying tears of boredom. It’s only when a sudden commotion sounds out from the floor below and a sharp knock sounds on the parlour door that things get interesting.

“What in hell’s name?” Rask growls. He lurches up out of his chair, barking for whoever’s on the other side of the door to come in. “And it’d better be important,” he snarls as a man scurries in, “I’m entertaining company.”

“Sorry, Mr. Rask.” The man takes off his hat and does an excellent imitation of a dog expecting to be kicked for misbehaving. “I didn’t realize you had guests, or I wouldn’t have bothered you.”

“Well it’s too late for that now, so you might as well spit it out.” Rask motions impatiently with one hand. “Come on then, spit it out. What’s going on downstairs?”

“It’s that damned Mexican again, sir,” the minion says, and Goody instantly perks up. “He got Jim Reaver, sir!”

“Got?” Rask echoes. “What do you meant ‘got’? You sayin’ he killed him?”

“Uh, no, sir. Not killed him, no, but judging by all the blood I’d say he damn well broke his nose at the very least.” The man shakes his head, and Goody has a sneaking suspicion he’s unsettled by more than just Rask’s ire. “Jim was about to discipline one of the other works and then that animal got in the middle of things.”

“Not for the first time, but definitely for the last,” Rask snaps. “You got him downstairs now? Good,” he barks when the man nods. “Get him up here. I’m dealing with this once and for all.”

As his man disappears out of the room, presumably to do his bidding, Rask stomps over to a small, hand crafted table and slides open a drawer Goody hadn’t initially noticed. Shoving his hand inside he pulls out a well-polished pistol and checks to see if it’s loaded. Then, without a word to either Goody or Billy, he crosses to stand in the center of the room.

His entire body tightening with concern, Goody shares a brief glance with Billy and then moves to stand closer to Rask. He’s still considering what, if anything, he should do when the door bursts open and three men stumble through it, two of them trying to contain the struggling third.

Goody feels his breath catch. Grateful that Rask’s facing away from him, while his two employees have their hands full with the ragged, bleeding man who’s just elbowed one of them in the throat, he schools his face into his best implacable expression while his mind races to come up with a way to avoid any bloodshed.

“Get him down!” Rask barks. His men rush to obey, and one of them gets lucky when he sweeps his leg between those of his assailant, sending the man tumbling unceremoniously to the ground. Then, before he can recover, the guard on the other side kicks him in the side, making him wretch. Once this is done, the guards use the distraction to grab their victim’s arms - thinner than they should be, he usually has more meat on him – and pin them behind his back.

Vasquez lets out a pained grunt, and Goody feels his chest tighten as he frantically considers and discards half a dozen possible actions in the span of a moment. He knows without looking that Billy’s preparing to strike behind him, but that’s only going to make things worse when they wind up having to fight their way out of here. Plus not even Billy is guaranteed to be fast enough against three armed men and however many more might be waiting outside the room.

No, if they’re to have a hope in hell of all three of them making it out of this room alive their best option is good old fashioned bluffing. Straightening his shoulders and motioning for Billy to hold still with a hand flicked behind his back, Goody licks his lips and prepares to run his mouth in the only way he knows how.

*****

The blow from the guard takes his legs out from under him, so that his knees hit the floor in record time, the carpet doing little to soften his landing. Already gasping for breath thanks to the hit he’d taken in the stomach, Vasquez winds up with his head down, bent forward and heaving as he tries not to throw up, desperately wishing all the while that his hands weren’t still being held behind him so that he could at least steady himself in that regard. Distantly he hears the sound of a gun clicking and slowly registers the touch of cool metal pressed against his temple.

Just like that his stuttered breathing takes on a whole new cast, as he realizes that the terror, the dread he’d felt upon being led into a jail cell and told to await his execution was nothing compared to the bone deep awareness that comes with knowing he’s about to die. Maybe if they’d taken him to the gallows and stood him in front of the noose before telling him the actual plan for him he might have known what to expect. As it is, however, this is fear unlike anything he’s ever known.

His thoughts, hysterical yet somehow detached as they are, drift to Faraday because of course they do. He remembers a night not long past that at the same time feels as if it were a lifetime ago; a night, a kiss, and one brief moment where everything had been perfect. At least he’d had that. He supposes it’s not a bad thing to dwell on as far as last thoughts are concerned. _Lo siento_ , _guero_ , he thinks, _realmente pensé que nos veríamos de nuevo._

"You'll have to forgive my saying so, William, but where I come from we consider it poor form to blow a man's brains out in front of our guests." The voice is coolly disinterested, altogether devoid of the warmth he's used to hearing in it, so much so that he almost thinks he's imagined the man it belongs to until he risks looking up and finds himself staring at a familiar pair of blue eyes.

Vasquez feels his breath hitch, something he desperately hopes Rask will chalk up to his having a gun pressed against his head, rather than recognition as Goodnight Robicheaux comes into view. Greatly daring, he shifts his gaze slightly, looking for the other half of a usual whole, and yes, there's Billy standing off to the side with his fingers twitching in a way that means he's moments away from reaching for one of his knives. Vasquez has no idea how the pair have come to be here, but they're the best damn sight he's seen in weeks.

Rask snorts up above him. "Man's got to maintain discipline among the ranks, Goodnight. I figured you'd know that better than most."

His eyes never leaving Vasquez, yet at the same time showing no familiarity whatsoever, Goodnight makes an unimpressed noise. "There's discipline and then there's whatever this. What's so special about this one that you need to splatter his brains all over your lovely rug?"

"Let's just say he's become something of a problem child." Rask's voice deepens, dropping into a register of low menace, and Vasquez tenses as he nudges him with the gun held in his hand. "I've kept myself from doing anything drastic because he's one of the strongest pieces I have for the mines, but even my patience has limits."

"Fine." Goodnight says simply. "Shoot him then. You killing some filthy Mexican is no skin off my nose." He pauses briefly and then shrugs. "Although, I do hope you don't expect me to stick around for that meal you offered after you've done away with him. Death brings a negative pall to a get together such as ours; I wouldn't know where to put my face."

"You?" Rask says sounding surprised. He pulls the gun back slightly, and Vasquez dares to let himself start to breathe again. "Robicheaux I've heard stories about all the men you killed during the war. Aye, and the ways you did it too. I don't imagine you're the squeamish type."

"Squeamish, no. Dignified, yes." Goodnight replies, his voice dripping with unabashed disdain. Vasquez can't be sure, but it looks like he's about to shame Rask into sparing his life. "There's a time and a place for an execution, and at the supper table most assuredly is not it. Honestly," he sniffs, "even Billy knows that. Ain't that right, Billy?"

From where he's yet to move since Vasquez had spotted him, Billy nods once. "Yes."

His voice is curt, lacking any of the casual familiarity it had developed over the time they'd traveled together. In fact, it sounded exactly like it had the day they'd first ridden into Rose Creek with Billy walking by Sam's side in the guise of a manservant. Belatedly, Vasquez realizes Goodnight and Billy are likely using the same sort of charade here.

This is made all the more obvious when Goodnight responds to Billy's simple affirmation. "There, you see?" Taking his gaze off of Vasquez, he locks eyes with Rask and jerks his head back in his partner's direction. "If my little devil here can understand what I'm saying then surely a civilized man such as yourself can too."

It takes every ounce of willpower Vasquez has not scoff at the notion of Rask being described as 'civilized'. If the situation weren't so dire, he doubts he would have managed it. Instead, he lists a little to the side, doing his best to appear suitably cowed while the bastard comes to a decision.

Thankfully, Rask reaches one very quickly, meaning Vasquez isn't stuck in limbo pondering his fate for much longer. There's a click as Rask slides his finger back, and then the entire gun recedes from Vasquez's vision. He has maybe all of a second to let out a relieved breath before the gun returns, the butt catching him in the side of the jaw, sending him sprawling onto the ground even more awkwardly than he was before.

“Oh now that will certainly leave a mark.” Goodnight says thoughtfully. “Good, give him something that’ll make him think twice before misbehaving.”

“There’s not much that keeps this one down for long, I’m afraid,” Rask replies, sounding genuinely disappointed. “He’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide and something of an attitude problem.”

“Ain’t no such thing as a horse that can’t be broken if you try hard enough.” Goodnight points out, and Vasquez has to fight the urge to scowl at him as Rask’s closed fist, no longer holding his gun, catches him in the mouth. “Though I have a feeling this one’s less bothered by pain than most. Have you tried anything else on him?”

Deciding that Goodnight can stop helping any moment now, Vasquez lifts his head up from the carpet, feeling a hot trail of blood trickle down as chin as he rises. It seems Rask’s ministrations have split his lip open again. He probes cautiously at the wound with his tongue, disliking the way he can taste copper as he does, and waits to see what’s going to happen next.

Rask draws back out of reach, and tilts his head quizzically in Goodnight’s direction. “He does have something of a high tolerance for pain, I’ll grant you that,” he says with a cruel smile, “I’ve tested it out fairly thoroughly. I don’t suppose you have any suggestions.”

Goodnight answers the question with a smile of his own. If Vasquez didn’t know him so well, and therefore know it’s entirely fake, he might be concerned. As it is, he suspects Goodnight’s about to come up with a tailor made solution that, while no doubt unpleasant, isn’t going to result in any permanent damage.

“He’s a big fella,” Goodnight says slowly, his words curling around themselves like smoke filtering into a room. “I’ll wager he’s got a healthy appetite. Back in my days as a soldier, one of the most damning things we could do to the enemy would be to cut off their supply lines. It is damn hard to cause a ruckus on an empty stomach.”

“Damn hard to work in a mine too.” Rask shoots back, as if he hasn’t been malnourishing every single soul in the compound the entire time they’ve been there. “He’s no good to me if he’s fainting from hunger.”

“Then only cut him off for the night, no tonight and tomorrow, so he’s got to spend the day working on an empty stomach.” Goodnight suggests. “Give him a taste of what’s to come if he doesn’t behave. I guarantee you he’ll be more inclined to stay in line now. Why he might just become a model citizen.”

Rask may hear a threat in that suggestion, but Vasquez hears something entirely different. Goodnight couldn’t have told him to keep his head down more clearly if he’d shouted it from the rooftops while waving a handwritten sign at the same time. _Behave yourself_ , Vasquez reads between the lines _, don’t give him a reason to do anything before we can get you out_.

He’s jerked out of his thoughts by a thoughtful humming noise, and finds Rask tapping his own chin in contemplation. “There might be something to what you’re saying,” the man admits. “Though I think I’ll have to sweeten the deal a little to really get him under my thumb.”

Not like the sound of that, Vasquez clamps down on his desire to start struggling since the last thing he needs to do now it make Rask more annoyed with him. Instead, he sits back as patiently as he can and waits to see what will happen.

Rask motions to the guards who’d first dragged Vasquez into the room. They’d fallen back when Rask had started swinging at him, but not all that far. “Put him away by himself until tomorrow. Maybe a night in solitary that sees him hungry and cold will help improve his attitude a little.”

Vasquez is making no promises where that idea is concerned, except in so far as he’s going to do what Goodnight so clearly wants him to and keep himself from becoming a target. He considers and discards several possible responses, and settles for growling slightly as the two guards come forward and haul him to his feet. Grunting as one of them twists his left arm painfully behind him, he focuses his attention on the nearest patch of carpet lest Rask see something on his face that sets him off again.

That last thing he sees as he’s pulled from the room is Goodnight turning to ask something about when supper would be ready while Billy idly twirls his beloved hairpin in one hand. Then the door closes behind them, and he’s got bigger problems on his hands thanks to the way the guards enjoy manhandling their prisoners as roughly as possible. Mindful of his newfound need to control himself, he concentrates on maintain a defensive role, one designed to avoid most of the hurt they’re trying to dish out rather than actively fighting back.

Despite his best efforts, he’s still picked up some new bruises by the time they arrive at the cell where he’ll be spending the night and dump him inside. Rubbing at a wrist that had been squeezed particularly vigorously in recent minutes, he glares as the door slams shut, albeit more for the look of things than anything else, and then takes stock of his surroundings.

As Rask had promised he’s alone in the cell, which is damp and lacking anything even remotely resembling a bed. He’ll be on the cold, hard ground for the night, without even a vest to take off to cushion his head since he’ll need to keep his shirt on for when the temperature inevitably drops as the evening wears on.

None of that matters, however. The inevitable cold might become something he can’t block out, that’s all but certain. In the meantime, the enormity of what’s just happen will far outweigh any potential future. If Goodnight and Billy are here than the others can’t be far behind, and if the entire crew is around they’re not going to leave him behind. He’s getting out, and he’s getting out soon.

Unable to help himself, he feels laughter start bubbling up in his chest. It’s completely unwarranted and just this side of hysterical, yet he couldn’t hold it back if he tried. Instead the sound echoes throughout the cramped confines of the room, the sound all but bouncing off the walls as he rocks back and forth in place.

*****

The sun has almost set when Goodnight and Billy come riding out to the campsite. Red's the first to spot them, having taken up residence on top of a rocky overhand while awaiting their arrival, and he damn near startles the hell out of Faraday when he swings down onto the ground where he, Sam and Horne have been laying low for most of the afternoon.

"They're back," he says simply, either not noticing or not caring that he's startled the living daylights out of all three of them. "They’re taking care of their horses first, but should be here soon.”

"They'd better be quick about it," Faraday mutters. Leaning back in his spot he crosses his arms over his chest and glowers down at the ground in front of him. As he’d warned Red earlier, he hasn’t been handling the long periods of inactivity well, and he’s impatient for their returning friends to get over here and tell them what, if anything they’ve found out. “They’ve taken long enough to get out here already as it is.”

As if he can sense where Faraday's thoughts are going, Sam casts him a withering glare. "Easy, Faraday," he says, and lord but he's getting tired of being told to calm down by that man, even if it is sound advice. "Billy and Goody'll be up as soon as they're able, you know that. They just have to be careful."

Grudgingly, Faraday nods. He may not like it, but that doesn't mean he can't see the logic in what Sam's saying. Plus, the absolute last thing he wants to do is put their tentative plans at risk, especially this early in the game.

Goodnight and Billy wind up taking longer than Faraday cares for to make their appearance, but they look pleased when they do drop down among the rest of them, so much so that he can’t help but sit up and take notice. Nor is he the only one, Sam straightens noticeably in his spot and even Horne perks up more than usual.

“You boys find somethin’?” Sam asks as they all shuffle around the ground to make space for the new arrivals. “I can only assume Rask let you in given how long you took to make contact today.”

“Of course he did, Sam.” Goodnight scoffs. “The man gave us a standin’ invitation, after all. Goin’ back on that would be an affront to southern hospitality. As for what we found, most of it was a whole bit of trouble, but we do have one particular piece of good news we can impart.”

“That bein’?” Sam asks.

Billy shifts where he’s just dropped down next to Goodnight’s left side, and when he speaks, he looks directly as Faraday. “Vasquez is alive. We saw him.”

Suddenly it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the surrounding area, or at least out of Faraday’s lungs. He distantly notes someone – Sam maybe? – asking him if he’s alright, but he can’t answer the question and couldn’t if he tried.  All he can do is sit there as the word ‘alive’ repeats itself over and over again in his head, only snapping out of his stupor when Goodnight clears his throat to get everyone’s attention.

“Vasquez is most definitely alive,” he assures the group at large, “and none too pleased with the mess he’s found himself in, I don’t think. The reason we ended up seeing him was that he was hauled in front of Rask during our visit.”

“What in the world for?” Faraday demands. He can think of all kinds of reasons a man like Rask might drag one of his prisoners in to see him, none of them good. Most of them fall in the category of ‘making an example of someone’, and Faraday’s stomach plummets at the mere thought. “Is he alright?”

“Yes,” Billy says, jumping in before Goodnight can, “but he almost wasn’t. Rask was getting ready to shoot him in front of us until Goody talked him out of it.”

Goodnight wrinkles his nose. “I’m not so sure he’d have gone through with it, honestly. It’d be in poor company to haul off and slaughter a man when you have guests you’re trying to impress over, and Rask strikes me as the kind of fellow who cares about what others think of him.”

“He definitely cares about that.” Billy acknowledges. “On the other hand, given how familiar he is with your background, I think he thought that’d impress you. Either way, I’ll wager you saved Vasquez’s life today.”

"It is possible I saved his life," Goodnight agrees with a shrug, "but I also think I got him sent to bed without any supper."

Billy snorts. "Better a night in the stockade than a bullet in the head," he says before Faraday can ask what Goodnight means. "He's alive for the moment and might be more likely to stay that way now he knows we're coming for him."

"How do you figure?" Faraday asks, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice. Ever since Goodnight and Billy had dropped their bombshell announcement he's felt oddly detached from his body, like it's no longer his. He has a sudden urge to reach for the medallion around his neck that he stomps down on, not wanting the others to see. Gritting his teeth he forces his hand to stay where it is and locks eyes with Billy as he waits for the other man to respond.

He's not left waiting long. Billy squares his shoulders and meets Faraday's gaze levelly, his voice slipping into an unusually gentle tone he's been using on him since this whole mess started. "From what Rask let slip, I'd say Vasquez has been causing trouble in the prisoner compound. Don't you agree?"

This last part is addressed to Goodnight, who nods sharply. "I would indeed, cher. Our friend William made it clear that Vasquez has been something of a rabble rouser during his captivity. My guess is he's either tried to escape a time or two or maybe he's been trying to rally the prisoners together. It's likely one of the two."

"Or both," Billy suggests.

"Or both," Goodnight agrees. "Or, hell, maybe he’s just plain been making a nuisance of himself. Whatever the answer, however, he's definitely brought himself to Rask's attention more than once, not to mention the attention of his men as well. With luck, maybe he'll give it a rest since he knows we're here. I don't like the idea of him drawing too much attention to his person at this point. Especially when it was so obvious that the bastard knew exactly who his guard was talking about when he came to say 'the Mexican' was acting out again."

"Sounds like Vas alright," Faraday says, or tries to anyway. His voice still isn't working properly. "But you saw him, how'd he look?"

"Pissed." Billy says succinctly. When Faraday stares at him, he sighs and elaborates. "He didn't look too bad all things considered. He's definitely been banged up a bit - cuts and bruises and the like - but he was walking under his own power and there wasn't any serious damage that I could see."

"Looked a bit on the thin side, though," Goodnight supplies. "Mind you, I don't imagine proper nutrition is much of a concern of Rask's with how he can swap every prisoner out for a new one without any trouble."

Faraday feels a hot stab of anger flare in his gut. He doesn't care how minor the injuries Goodnight and Billy are describing sound, anyone who's dared to lay a hand on Vasquez is going to wind up with a bullet between the eyes, but only after they've suffered a bit. Such treatment deserves repayment in kind, and Faraday is more than willing to dole that out. 

"They're dead." He growls. "Every last one of these bastards is dead and their bodies just don't know it yet."

Silence descends around the group, but not a soul dares to disagree with him.

*****

By the time their little meeting has finished up, Faraday’s so twitchy he feels like he’s about to crawl out of his own skin. He recognizes the importance of a carefully thought out plan, now more than ever since it’s Vasquez’s neck on the line, it’s just that he’s never been good at concentrating when something big is going down, and the knowledge that Vasquez is alive is about as big as it gets. Faraday’s spent so much time convinced he’d never see the man again, and convinced it was all his fault on top of everything else, that the mere notion of Billy and Goodnight having set eyes on him is enough to set his head spinning.

He finds himself unable to stay inside the circle of the campfire when they break off for the evening. Half of the others – Jack and Sam in particular - are looking at him like they want to make him talk about his feelings, and the mere thought of such a discussion is enough to send him scurrying for the relative safety of his horse’s volatile personality.

Jack whickers softly when Faraday approaches him, his more temperamental attitudes kept at bay in light of it being only his rider who’s come to see him. The horse has always been calmer and less prone to being rambunctious when it’s just the two of them, and lately it’s been like he can sense how wrong things have gone for Faraday and is paying special attention to keeping his behaviour in check.

“Hey, fella,” Faraday croons softly, shuffling forward so that he can scrub a hand over Jack’s nose in the way he knows the horse likes. “Have you heard the news? Goodnight and Billy found Vas. You remember Vas, don’t you? Yeah, of course you do.”

Jack snuffles into Faraday’s palm, and he chooses to take that as him saying yes. Vasquez had ridden with them long enough that Jack had slowly started to warm up to him as time had passed, eventually going so far as to let the man pet him without trying to bite. It hadn’t hurt that Vasquez had had a knack with horses that had almost rivaled Faraday’s own, proving himself to be relatively unconcerned by the bulk of Jack’s antics, to the point that the horse hadn’t seemed to know quite what to do with him.

“I think you miss him too,” Faraday continues on, still petting his horse. “Maybe not as much as me, but definitely some anyway. He was good with you, right?”

Due to the fact that he’s a horse and is therefore incapable of talking, Jack doesn’t answer verbally. However, the way he’s nosing back at Faraday’s hand gets more intense, so Faraday chooses to take that as acknowledgement of his point. “Yeah, he was. Reckon you’ll mind if we go and get him back? Hope not because I’m sure as shit goin’ to do it if I can.”

Completely at a loss for what to do with himself, Faraday shifts his hand down to paw at Jack’s neck, eventually giving in to the urge to try and hide away for a while and burying his face in Jack’s mane. “He’s alive, fella,” he chokes out, hoping for all he’s worth that no one wanders into the stables and finds him like this. “Fuck, can you believe that? Alive.”

He knows that was the goal all along, that they’d arrive in town and find that Vasquez had cheated death yet again, managing to avoid the noose, but, like he’d told Chisolm he’d been unwilling to get his hopes up. Having spent  as long as he has thinking Vasquez was dead, telling himself there might have been a chance otherwise, prior to his having conclusive proof of the fact, was only asking for trouble. Goodnight and Billy wouldn’t lie to him, though, not about this, not ever. If they said they’d seen Vasquez alive and breathing then it had to be true.

Pulling away from Jack, Faraday scrabbles for the medallion around his neck, having the sudden urge to twist it around his fingers. The cord really isn’t in the best shape and it chafes at the skin of his hand as he digs around for it, but for once the damn thing doesn’t feel like a noose around his neck. More than once he’s imagined the medallion as a form of penance, a permanent reminder of how he’d failed Vasquez, a veritable cross to bear.

Now, though? Now it was something else entirely. It’s still a weight he doesn’t want around his neck, but from this moment on it’s going to be a promise, not a curse. He’s going to get it back to its rightful owner. It belongs to Vasquez, has since he was a child, Faraday knows, and Faraday’s either going to get it back to him or die trying.

He runs his free hand over Jack’s mane, patting the horse firmly as he blows a ragged breath out through his nose. “We’re goin’ to get him back, fella. _I’m_ goin’ to get him back. I might not have a clue what’ll happen past that point, mind you, but I swear to god if I get another chance I’m not goin’ to blow it.”

He’ll get Vasquez back, and when he does he’ll throw all his cards on the table for once. No more games, no more lying, just the honest to god truth about what he wants and how he feels. If Vasquez is no longer interested that’s fine, hell it’ll be completely understandable what with how things have played out so far, but at least this time Faraday’s not going to let his own cowardice stop him from saying what he wants.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My never ending thanks to Kat2107 who tore this chapter apart and made the logistics make sense. She is a gem and a trooper, and if you enjoy any part of this fic she probably had a hand in it. :D
> 
> ALSO: Just as a warning, there are some depictions of violence in this chapter. Nothing too graphic, but I wanted to give folks a heads up.

As expected, he spends a miserable night in solitude, hungry and half-frozen, not to mention aching all over from a mixture of cold and the blows he’d taken at the guard’s hands the previous afternoon. By the time they let him out in the morning he’s in no shape to be doing anything, much less to be forced down into the mine and told to get to work. However, that’s exactly what happens, and he needs to be on his best behaviour - now more than ever.

Several prisoners openly gape at him as he’s lead back into the compound, all of them staring as if they’ve seen a ghost. Which, he supposes, in a sense they have. He certainly hadn’t expected to make it out of the house alive, nor can he blame anyone else for thinking the same thing.

Nadia catches sight of him not long after his arrival, and makes her way over with little delay, Timothy following close on her heels. “We thought you were dead,” she says without preamble, going so far as to reach up to touch his face before she thinks better of it and draws her hand back. “What the hell happened?”

He considers telling her the truth, and scraps the plan almost as quickly as it comes to him. The more people who know salvation might be at hand, the greater the risk someone will let something slip. Goodnight and Billy won’t make a move without thinking things through, that’s not how they operate, and they’ll find a way to keep him informed. Once he has more of an idea of what’s going on he can decide if he shoulder tell anyone.

“Rask was in a forgiving mood.” He says instead. “At least to a point. He had guests who felt watching me get shot might put them off their meal, so he put me in one of his pits for the night and left me there.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t kill you,” Timothy murmurs quietly, ashen faced.

“He almost did.” Vasquez replies, and the shudder he lets out isn’t faked in the slightest. “There was – he.” Vasquez pauses and tries again. “It was not something I’d like to repeat.”

“You don’t say.” Nadia growls, and Vasquez is certain that if he didn’t have new bruises blooming over at least half of his body she’d be giving serious thought to punching him herself. “Now will you listen to me when I tell you to stop gettin’ involved in other people’s squabbles?”

“I – yes,” Vasquez says quietly. After all, it’s not like she won't notice his sudden onset of good behaviour. Perhaps if she thinks it’s something borne out of fear, she won’t question it too intently. “I will be honest with you. There’s nothing quite like having a gun pressed to your head to put certain matters in perspective. And by that I mean mainly that I don’t want to die.”

He thinks he may have said too much when Nadia’s eyes narrow like she’s just heard something she doesn’t put much stock in. It becomes a moot point, however, as the guards choose now to start getting everyone moving towards their allotted tasks for the day. Timothy gets shunted off to take up his usual position, while Vasquez and Nadia are sent down into the tunnels.

“You weren’t joking earlier, were you?” Nadia asks after a while spent on mindless labour, surprising him with a desire to talk.

“Hmm?” He asks. He doesn’t usually like chatting at times like these, but hunger’s quickly becoming a nagging problem in his gut and he welcomes the distraction. “What did you say?”

“Yesterday was unsettling for you, wasn’t it?”

Keeping his attention on the rock wall in front of him, Vasquez tries and fails to make a dismissive noise. “It put some things in perspective.”

“Like what?” She asks, and Vasquez is suddenly flooded with the thoughts he’d been trying to forestall while lying trapped in a frozen bunker all night. Thoughts about how if Goodnight and Billy are here, others might be too. He takes a deep breath.

“Did I ever tell you what I was doing when I got caught?” He asks even though he knows the answer already. When Nadia makes a sound in the negative he continues on. “I was going to find someone – someone I’d run away from.”

Nadia’s quiet for several seconds, the only noise around them that of axes digging into ore. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not talking about someone who wanted your sorry carcass dragged to the gallows?”

“Because I’m not,” he says simply. “I made a mistake where this someone was concerned, and I wanted the chance to make it right. I still want that.”  

He hadn’t realized until just now how close he’d come to giving up, to never getting out of here and never seeing Faraday or anyone he cared about ever again. Now that he knows better, he’s going to do everything in his power to stay alive until the time comes. If that means keeping his head down and playing the role of the cowed prisoner then so be it. He’ll do what he has to do to survive.

Nadia's gaze is heavy when it lands on him, but her voice is soft when she speaks. "I don't know if you'll get that chance, but I hope you do."

Keeping the browbeaten façade up until it’s time for them to be fed lunch is no problem, but he struggles when he’s told he’s once again going to be going hungry. Part of him wants to reach up and smack the smug grin off the laughing guard’s face as he’s informed that his behaviour the day before means he’s not getting fed until after the day’s work is through, but he resists the urge through sheer force of will.

“And don’t any of you lot be sneaking him anythin’ or you’ll be in for it too,” the guard adds, shaking an admonishing finger at the surrounding prisoners as he turns to go about his business. “Mr. Rask says he’ll only tolerate so much poor manners before he makes an example of someone.”

Timothy, who’s joined them upon their being let out of the mind for the moment, lets out an uncharacteristic snort as the man steps away. “Just say the word and I’ll give you half of this slop anyway. S’not like I much want to be eating it.”

“No.” Vasquez says quickly. “He wasn’t joking. Keep it to yourself. I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure,” the younger man says dubiously. He frowns down at the bowl of gruel in his hands, but obediently goes back to eating it. “Did you two hear Rask is having guests again today?”

Vasquez perks up at this. “No? Who? And how do you know?”

Timothy shrugs. “I heard a couple of the guards talking when I was bringing some loads over to be sorted. Apparently the two folks who visited yesterday were supposed to tour the mine, but never got the chance because they showed up too late to do that _and_ have supper. They’re comin’ back today for part two. Should be here soon, I think.”

Nadia makes a dismissive sound and mutters something about how Rask’s friends can do as they please for all she cares, while Vasquez sits back with a thoughtful hum. He’s a little surprised Goodnight and Billy are coming back so soon, but chances are they're making use of whatever leeway Rask is allowing them. No doubt it’ll be interesting to see what they get up to as the day carries on.

*****

Rask proves to be neither a better person nor a better host when Goody and Billy return the next day. He greets them out front, barely letting them get a word in edgewise or dismount from their horses before he’s urging them to follow him and receive the tour they’d been promised during their first meeting. “You said you wanted to see it,” he says as he motions for them to follow him, “and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a sight to behold, though I have to admit it is a bit of a hike.”

“That’s no problem,” Goody says, not wanting the man to rescind his offer to take them down. “I imagine you did that deliberately. I know I for one wouldn’t want the blasting of a mine too close to my home. The noise would damn well drive me out of my mind.”

“The noise is less of a problem than you might think,” Rask says as they make their way along. “We don’t do much blasting here, and I make sure any time it needs to be done is scheduled so that I’ll be away if at all possible.” He grins in a self-satisfied manner. “After all, I see no reason why I shouldn’t be as comfortable as possible while this project is ongoing.”

“Indeed,” Goody replies, for lack of anything better to say. Luckily they approach the outskirts of the mine quicker than expected, and the low whistle he lets out is anything but fake.

The path they’re walking along takes on a downward slope and a heavy wooden structure that can only be a watch tower looms abruptly in the distance. Noting the rungs slotted along one side to allow for easy climbing, Goody files this information away for later use and then returns to carefully treading along the path. There’s enough lose ground hereabouts that an ill-advised step could result in a twisted ankle or worse.

While the tower rises out of the surrounding area, the mine does anything but. Set deep in a rock wall, there’s only one visible entrance, though for all Goody knows there could be more located elsewhere, and it’s located back deeply in a heavily excavated pit that’s dotted with tools and workers going about their business. There are a number of guards milling about, made obvious by their openly displayed weapons, and he spots a barred structure that size alone suggests it’s probably the prisoner’s barracks. All told it’s an impressive sight, one that’s going to be difficult to handle given how outnumbered they seem to be.

“Your man doesn’t say much, does he?” Rask says as they make their way through the compound, and Billy, who up until now has been letting his eyes flick from place to place, no doubt making note of all the defences the enemy has, shifts to await Goody’s response.

Not wanting to leave anyone waiting, Goody makes sure it comes without delay. “I don’t need him to say much, or anything.” He says. “I need him to do his job and that’s it.”

Rask makes a thoughtful humming noise, falling silent for several paces before he speaks up again. “If you don’t mind my asking, why choose such a bodyguard? You’ve got to admit he doesn’t exactly strike fear into the hearts of those around him.”

He shifts to give Billy an incredibly unsubtle once over, and Goody has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as Billy simply stares the man down, his dark eyes flint hard and unimpressed. Getting himself under control, Goody offers Rask a crooked grin. “Trust me, William, I only work with the best. Anyone who isn’t afraid of Billy here just hasn’t seen him in action.”

If he’s surprised to hear a man with Goody’s reputation semi-standing up for a lowly underling, especially one as ‘exotic’ as Billy, Rask does an impressive job of hiding it. “Are you saying you think your man here could stand up to whatever I might throw at him?” He asks instead, and now his eyebrows do inch a little ways up his forehead. “I know you called him a devil yesterday, Goodnight, but, really, he doesn’t look like much.” 

“Looks can be deceiving,” Goody retorts, wishing not for the first time that Rask wouldn’t talk to him with such a level of familiarity. He knows it works with their plan, but it’s also beginning to get on his nerves. “It’s like that fellow you were going to do away with yesterday – he didn’t look like much all torn up and bleeding, but he’d still done a number on one of your men before a bunch more brought him down.”

Rask makes an annoyed sound as they emerge out into the excavated area in front of the mine entrance. “Don’t remind me. Speaking of devils, there’s my particular problem child now.” He nods his head to where a few dozen people, all of whom look like they’ve seen better days, are clumped together with tin plates in their hands. Vasquez is with them, sitting sandwiched in between a giant of a man and a woman who Goody guesses is probably the second maid Rask had mentioned the day before, notably without any food in front of him.

“I see you took my advice,” he says, outwardly cool while inwardly seething. Vasquez actually appears to be in better shape than most of the poor souls clustered around him, which is saying something. “Having him spending the day working on an empty stomach might very well keep him in line.” 

“Doubtful, but I’m willing to try,” Rask says. “He’s still got a few good months of work left in him, I’d say. I'd hate to waste it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Goody sees Billy’s hand make a minute twitch in the direction of his hairpin, and he’s abruptly reminded that his lover had once come from a place not very different from this one. Goody feels a sudden surge of regret at the realization that he’s dragged Billy back into a place similar to one that had fueled many of the nightmares he likes to pretend he never has.

Safely out of Rask’s sight, he gives Billy his best apologetic expression and gets a brusque head shake for his troubles - Billy’s way of saying he’s fine and that they have a job to do. Biting back a sigh, his dearly beloved does have a way of bringing that out in him, but also of remembering how he needs to stay in character, Goody plasters a vapid smile on his face and tunes back in to whatever Rask is meandering on about now.

“… wouldn’t mind seeing your man go up against one of mine.”

 _Say what now?_ Goody shakes his head to clear away the last of his worries where Billy’s emotional wellbeing is concerned and focuses in on the here and now. He holds up a hand. “Sorry, William, I think I drifted off for a moment or two there, what were you saying?”

Rask gives him a mildly affronted glare that almost immediately smooths over into his usual congenial countenance. “Too busy caught up in all the work I’ve managed to get done out here, eh? I can’t say as I blame you for that.”

Goody gives him an affable nod, happy to let the man believe what he likes as he continues on with the plan to catalog the strengths and weakness of the compound. “You’ve gotten plenty done, for sure,” he agrees, “but what were you saying about Billy taking on one of your men? I missed the first part.”

“Just that,” Rask replies with an easygoing shrug. “You’ve made it clear you think he's good enough to take on anyone I could throw at him, and I’m anxious to see what kind of skill he’s got to earn such praise from the Angel of Death.”

Goody frowns thoughtfully. “I can’t imagine that’s a job too many of your men will appreciate being volunteered for. Not once they’ve seen what Billy can do, especially.”

Rask’s own face goes thoughtful, and he strokes his chin absently as he ponders what Goody’s just said. “You may have a point,” he says slowly, and here his gaze drifts over to the spot where the prisoners are all watching their approach, every last one of them no doubt on edge over the notion of having the mine owner in their midst. “On the other hand, I’ve got a number of folks I can volunteer for whatever I choose.”

Goody curses inwardly, unable to believe he’s just given the sick bastard such an opening, and is trying to come up with an idea that won’t see an innocent bystander get hurt when Billy steps forward.

“I want the Mexican,” he says bluntly, and Goody stares at him agog wondering what in hell’s name he's up to.

Meanwhile, the bulk of the prisoners, Vasquez among them, are watching their discussion unfold. Some of them seem to be murmuring to each other, but most are eyeing Rask with trepidation, no doubt having heard his willingness to offer them up for Billy to make an example of. There’s a sudden tension in the air as if everyone is collectively waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Except, as it happens, for where Vasquez is concerned. He tilts his head to one side, an amused smirk curling his lips, and then squeezes out from in between his two companions, stepping forward once he’s free. “You want to try me, cabrón?” He asks, directing the question at Billy.

Smirking as well, Billy glances back and forth between Goody and Rask. “Hunger won’t be enough to keep that one down. Let me.”

Rask grins, aiming the delighted flash of teeth right at Billy, seemingly seeing him as a person for the first time. “If you want him, my friend, be my guest. So long as it’s alright with your employer, of course.” He adds, raising an eyebrow at Goody.

In answer, Goody  resists the urge to sigh at this foolishness, and crooks a finger at Billy. “Take him down.”

 *****

“Take him down.” They’re not words Goody’s ever said to him before, at least not in such a dismissive tone of voice, but they’re not be ignored either. Stepping forward, he begins circling the spot where all the spectators have receded to leave Vasquez alone and undefended. Then he strikes. Shifting first from one foot then the other, he ducks punch that Vasquez most definitely wasn't pulling, and twists until he can get behind his friend unexpectedly.

"Hey, hermano," Vasquez says breathlessly as Billy tries to get him in a headlock. "Did you miss me?"

"Not as much as some," Billy grunts, and then hisses when Vasquez sinks his teeth into the meat of his forearm. Wily bastard. At least he gets that they have to make this look real. "How've you been?"

Vasquez spits into the dirt as he fruitlessly continues to try and squirm out of Billy's hold. "Oh, you know," he gasps, and Billy relaxes his grip ever so slightly to avoid choking him, "enjoying spending time in my lovely new home."

"Yeah?" Billy asks. "Too bad we're planning to burn it to the ground then."

"Eh." Vasquez says nonchalantly. "I guess I can always settle down somewhere else."

"Good. We're working on getting you out." Knowing they don't have much time left, he can only fake a fight like this for so long, he adds in rush, "Do us a favour and keep your head down. I don't want to go through all this trouble only to find out you've pissed someone off enough to kill you."

He thinks Vasquez would laugh if he were able. Too bad Billy's cutting off a significant portion of his airflow at the moment. "Sí, fine, I'll behave." 

Pleased to have that confirmed and knowing their time is all but up, Billy allows himself a small smile. "Good, glad to hear it. And, for the record, I'm sorry about this, but I can't have him thinking I'm not taking this seriously."

Vasquez begins to make a questioning noise that abruptly turns into a howl as Billy moves a hand and viciously wrenches his left shoulder out of place. He hisses through his teeth as Billy releases him and lets him roll away to protectively curl in on himself.

Billy feels a pang of regret at the sight his friend makes as he tries to shield his injured side from potential threats. However, Rask starts sputtering angrily, drawing Billy's attention to him instead. He spots the man where he's standing over by Goody, one hand gesturing wildly to encompass everything that's just happened.

"Robicheaux, what the hell is this?" Rask demands wildly. "That's one of my strongest workers and your goddamned little chinaman just made it so I can't put him back in the mines. You want to fucking explain yourself?"

Goody maintains the same mask of civility he's kept in place ever since they'd set foot in the compound. Billy knows how much that has to be costing him, and he's impressed when Goody only says mildly, "He's Korean as it happens. I'm told there's something of a difference, though lord knows I couldn't tell you what that might be. As for your man here, I wouldn't worry about it."

Gesturing at Billy with two of his fingers, Goody nods at Vasquez. "Remember we're guests here, Billy. Put that back the way you found it."

Pleased that they're on the same page as much as ever, Billy shuffles over and gets a hand on Vasquez's wounded shoulder. He doesn't bother apologizing this time, not wanting to risk being caught, and calmly pops the joint back into place. 

Vasquez yells again and lands with his knees in the dirt when Billy lets him go a second time. He stays down for a few moments to catch his breath, moving his arm tentatively at first and then more firmly as the reduced pain filters in. Finally, he raises his head and levels a glare at Billy. "I'm going to remember that, amigo."

Billy shrugs, outwardly unconcerned while inwardly relieved that he doesn't appear to have done any permanent damage. He glances over at Rask, noting how the man is frowning down at Vasquez in confusion, and smirks. "Popping the shoulder out hurts like hell and it'll leave the arm useless if you don't fix it, but that only takes a moment."

"Yes," Goody agrees, picking up where Billy's left off, "and once it's back in the arm is basically good as new, albeit with a lingering unpleasant memory or two and a few aches and pains."

Rask takes his gaze back and forth between the two of them, a cruel smile blossoming on his face as he looks approvingly at Billy. "So he's not damaged for good?"

Wishing he could make his disdain for the man obvious, Billy keeps his own implacable mask in place. "Not if you don't do it that often. Too many times and you'll wear away the joint, but once shouldn't have a lasting impact."

Rask taps a finger against his chin thoughtfully, eventually nodding in satisfaction. “Fair enough, and it’s not like the brute didn’t deserve it.” He jerks his chin at one of the guards and then at Vasquez in quick succession. “Get him back where he belongs, I’ve seen all I want to of him for one day, but make sure he’s put back to work. I can’t have any of my people be seen slacking.”

Safely behind Rask, Goody’s mask slips. It’s a blink and you’ll miss it kind of motion, not one of the guards notices, but Billy’s lived side by side with Goodnight Robicheaux for over ten years now, he knows how Goody works. That’s why he doesn’t miss the look of pure, unadulterated rage that crosses his face for a fraction of a second.

Biting back a sudden urge to wince, Billy moves to follow Rask out of the yard. Never mind that they need to get a report back to the others soon, if Goody stays here much longer he’s going to take on the entire complex all by himself, and then they'll really be in trouble.

*****

Now able to wander the compound at will - his stunt with Vasquez having done what he'd hoped and made the guards see him as someone like them - Billy begins the laborious process of mapping it out in his head. It's going to take him more than one run through, but the beauty of the plan he’s devised is that he's free to roam as he pleases and the guards won't touch him. Even better, if he plays his cards right he might manage talk to Vasquez again.

Pasting a look of cool indifference on his face, he covers the rocky outcrops at a slow measured pace, nodding at the occasional guard he comes across. They've all obviously been told to let the strange little 'chinaman' go where he wants, and Billy's happy use this to his advantage. Not one man tries to stop him as strides along the outskirts of the compound, noting key details like the prison barracks, the mine itself, and the watchtower posted in such a way that anyone in it can see everything going on down below. That detail especially he files away for later, imagining what kind of damage Goody might do if they can get him up it when the time comes.

Also while he's out and about he does his best get a head count for the number of prisoners milling around, figuring Sam will want that information as well.

Billy's been in similar situations before himself. The fact that a man he considers a friend and dozens of others are now in the same place only strengthens his resolve to get them all out. To hell with Rask and whatever obstacles he might try and put in the way.

And speak of the devil, Billy’s circuit of the compound has drawn him to the lip of the mine just as Vasquez emerges from within it, two pieces of a broken pickaxe held in his hands. One of the guards shifts to intercept him, and Billy drifts over as well in case things start to head south.

“Don’t tell me he’s causing trouble again,” he says as he comes within earshot. “I figured my last lesson would stick for at least a little while.”

“Apparently he’s moved on to destruction of property,” the guard drawls, looking Vasquez up and down like he’s considering the best place to lash out at him. “Says he needs a replacement ax because the first one gave up the ghost.”

“All I’m trying to do is work,” Vasquez says tiredly, and Billy’s eyes narrow because he doesn’t think that’s faked. The bags under Vasquez’s eyes speak to a level of exhaustion he’d rather not think about it, and there’s a worrying sheen of sweat covering what skin he can see. “Can’t do that with a broken ax.”

The guard sneers. “Enough of your back talk. Me, I reckon you snapped the damn thing on purpose to get a little breathin’ room.”

Vasquez makes a face like he wants to argue this, and Billy steps in before he can run the risk of getting himself shot. “Let me deal with him,” he says, hoping like hell he’s not going to have to bodily place himself between the two men. “If he’s already acting out again then I want to see about making a better impression on him.”

The guard eyes him for a moment, and then snorts, his face creasing into a grin that Billy dearly wishes he could carve off the man’s face. “I did like watchin’ you work earlier,” he says, admiration obvious in his tone. “The supply shed’s over that way, if you wanted to walk with him to see he keeps in line – and also to do what it takes to make him do so – well, I wouldn’t say no.”

Billy tips his hat at the man and reaches out to shove Vasquez along ahead of him. It’s not a hard shove, but worryingly enough still makes his friend stumble. Billy waits until they’re out of earshot, before pitching his voice low and asking, “How are you?”

Vasquez shrugs the motion so small any guards who might still be watching won’t have been able to see it. “My arm is fine, if that’s what you’re worried about. My stomach not so much.”

Billy winces, remembering the extent of the punishment Goody had accidentally conned Rask into enacting. “How long has it been since you last ate?”

“Yesterday morning. Same goes for water.”

No wonder he looks like shit. Combine those factors with what was no doubt a terrible night’s sleep, and the man’s bound to collapse before he gets fed again. The lack of food he can handle for a few more hours, but dehydration is another thing entirely.

Circling Vasquez menacingly, Billy eyes the supply shed as they approach, his gaze eventually landing on a water trough resting up along one side, probably for horses to use while tied near it waiting for wagons to be loaded. “We’re going to make a list,” he murmurs as an idea occurs him, “and we’re going to title it Things You’re Not Allowed to Tell Faraday I Did to You Today.”

Vasquez’s head jerks up, his eyes wide, but Billy has him by the back of the neck before he can do anything, shoving him fact first into the water between one blink and the next. “It’s fine, he was just getting a little mouthy,” he says when he sees the closest guard startle and make as if to move in his direction. “I’m not going to hurt him too much.”

The guard backs off, and Billy adjusts his grip to Vasquez’s shirt collar, using it to tug him out of the water. He comes up sputtering and shaking his head, droplets flying every which way as his soaking wet curls flick back and forth, sucking in heaving lungfuls of air that he’d just been denied. “Do you need me to do it again?” Billy asks. He pitches the question like a threat to keep up appearances, but the offer is genuine.

“Oh, sure, once more would be nice.” Billy rolls his eyes at the glib tone, but does as indicated.

“Tastes awful,” Vasquez mutters when Billy lets him up a second time, releasing his grip on his shirt and taking a step back. “Although better than nothing, I suppose. Gracias, amigo.”

“My pleasure, now go get what you’re after.” Billy watches Vasquez duck into the shed, moving to settle behind him, leaning up against the doorframe. He keeps his posture relaxed outwardly, while inwardly he has most of his attention focused back out in the compound in case any of Rask’s men get too close.

“We’re hoping to move tomorrow night,” he says quietly. Behind him, Vasquez grunts his acknowledgment as he sorts through various tools, looking for one he can use. “Goody’s got Rask eating out of the palm of his hand, it won’t be hard to score another invite, and now I’ve got the layout of this place. All I need to know is who keeps the keys to the barracks so we can get everyone out.”

“No one keeps the keys,” Vasquez tells him. He shrugs when Billy shoots him an incredulous glance. “They hang them on one of the outside walls of the barracks. None of the prisoners can reach them when inside, and none would want them while outside. It’s the simplest choice for the guards. Keeps them from getting lost since they’re always in the same place.”

“These men are idiots,” Billy grunts. “I could build a better system with my eyes closed.”

“We both could,” Vasquez agrees. New pickaxe in hand, he steps up to Billy and pauses, his expression going strange.

“What is it?” Billy asks, unable to parse it out.

Vasquez shoves a few locks of damp hair out of his eyes and shrugs awkwardly. “You mentioned Joshua – he’s here?”

He doesn’t sound surprised, exactly, Billy doesn’t think, but he’s obviously hung up on Faraday’s presence. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes – he’s had his suspicions regarding what Vasquez and Faraday may have reached an impasse over, and this reaction basically confirms it – Billy offers up a shrug of his own since he can’t clap the other man on the shoulder the way he’d like to. “We’re all here,” he says, “but I’d argue Faraday’s the one leading the charge. No one would’ve known you were in trouble without him.”

Vasquez makes a thoughtful noise, but covers it up right away by hiking his shirt up and sucking at some of the moisture still beading the collar. It’s a stunt Billy’s pulled a time or two himself during hot days on the road after he’s been near a handy watering hole, and serves well as distraction from the ongoing conversation. It also makes Billy realize the man’s no longer wearing the medallion he’s always had around his neck up until now. Someone must’ve taken it from him, which is a shame. If Billy remembers correctly the thing had been some kind of family heirloom.

“I should get back to work,” Vasquez mutters.

“You should,” Billy agrees. They’ve stalled long enough. “Just one more day and hopefully this’ll be over.”

Vasquez tips him a sly wink and steps out of the shed with the ax slung over one shoulder. “I’m going to hold you to that, my friend.”

Billy watches him go until he’s out of sight, and then sets off on his task to map out the compound once again.

*****

“How much longer before they’re back, d’you figure?”

Not expecting the question, Sam raises his head with a surprised hum, and focuses his attention on where Faraday’s sitting by the fire, prodding at it with a stick he’s picked up somewhere. For his part, Sam’s been running a cloth lightly over one of his guns, content to wait out the return of their crew by keeping his hands busy and enjoying the companionable silence. “Red signaled them comin’ a bit ago. I don’t imagine it’ll be long now.”

Faraday grunts, clearly not satisfied with Sam’s answer, and jabs at the fire with his stick again. “I know when Red spotted ‘em,” he grumbles. “What I don’t know is why the hell they ain’t here yet.”

Sam briefly considers taking the stick from him, if he keeps on the way he is he’s either going to snuff the fire out or, worse, make it spread someplace they don’t want it, only to decide to leave him be. If he’s being honest with himself, this is the most Faraday-like the man’s sounded in ages, and the return of his usual impatience is a small price to pay where that’s concerned. “They’ll be here as soon as they can,” he says instead. “It’s dark out now, and they’ve had a fair bit of ground to cover what with not wantin’ anyone in town to see them slippin’ away. These things take time.”

“Time,” Faraday scoffs, the light of the fire highlighting the deep scowl set in his features. “We don’t have time. _Vasquez_ doesn’t have time. Every minute we spend here sittin’ on our asses is another that brings him closer to gettin’ shot by some jumped up miner who thinks he’s worth nothin’ more than the labour he represents. It ain’t right!”

“No,” Sam agrees softly, “it isn’t.”

If he’d thought his gentle tone might help, he’s sorely mistaken. Faraday scoffs again at his words, and smacks at the fire in front of him, the motion this time sending a bunch of embers scattering free. Most of them peter out as they hit the rocky ground, their light snuffing out now that they’re cut off from the main fire that’s been feeding them, but a couple roll forward, still burning, only coming to a stop when Sam stretches out and stomps on them with a heavy, booted foot.

“You done?” He asks. His tone is mild, but it makes Faraday deflate like a balloon that someone’s let all the air out of.

“Yeah,” he says mulishly. He doesn’t drop his stick, but at least he pulls it back from the fire, shifting to tap it idly against a few nearby rocks where it can’t do any more damage. “I’m just gettin’ a little edgy from all this waitin’, sorry.”

“Did I ask for an apology?” Sam cocks an eyebrow at him, following it up with a slight grin when the younger man hunches in on himself, embarrassment evident in his posture.”

“No,” Faraday grumbles, “but you usually don’t.”

Sam lets his grin broaden, inordinately pleased by what he feels are the first real signs of life he’s seen out of Faraday in ages. It reminds him of the aftermath of the battle for Rose Creek, and how he known their most badly injured party was finally on the mend when he’d begun loudly demanding to be entertained while stuck in bed, getting more and more irritable until they’d humored him. “Just be patient, boy. Goody and Billy were supposed to get the layout of the mine today. If they have, we’ll be able to start movin’ soon.”

“If,” Faraday sniffs, but Sam notes he perks up a little nevertheless.

They lapse back into silence for a few more minutes, and that’s all it takes for a low whistle to sound out in the brush. Red and Jack, who’d been located up at their agreed upon watch point, come out first, Billy and Goody trailing not far behind them.

“Evening, boys,” Goody says with a little wave of his fingers. He moves to claim the same spot he’s taken the last two times he’s been in this camp, shuffling over the same way he always does so Billy can take up residence beside him. “Sorry we’re later than expected. After he was done showing us the mine, Rask insisted we stay for supper a second time.”

Sam casts a quick glance over at Faraday, notes the way his face has gone pinched, and resists the sudden urge to rub his temples. “As delightful as I’m sure that was, let’s hear what you’ve got to say about the mine.”

“Then you’d better let Billy do the talking,” Goody informs him. “He was able to cut loose from Rask and I after a bit, and sort of wander around of his own free will.”

Sam blinks, frankly surprised to hear this. “How in hell’s name did you manage that?” He asks, genuinely curious.

Goody and Billy share a look that he can’t help but classify as guilty. A fact that Faraday seems to note as well if the way he narrows his eyes is any indication. “What’d you two do?”

“Not Goody,” Billy says instantly. “It was my idea. Sort of spur of the moment, but it worked.”

“It being?”

Goody sighs. “Rask was prattling on about how Billy didn’t look like much of a threat to him, and how he couldn’t understand why the likes of me would speak so highly of him. Obviously, I told him I’d wager Billy could take on any of his men without so much as a by your leave …”

“Which I could,” Billy interjects with a smirk.

“… and damnit if the bastard didn’t see that as a challenge and say he could have a go at any of the miners.”

“The miners?” Faraday echoes. “You mean the prisoners?” He gives Billy an aghast look that Sam suspects is mirrored on his own face. “You up and kicked the crap out of one of those poor saps to get on Rask’s good side?”

“Not exactly,” Billy says, his expression going flat again. “Did you know that Vasquez bites?”

“At least when you’ve got him in a headlock, apparently,” Goody adds, and across from them Faraday sputters incoherently while Sam feels that potential headache return with a vengeance.

“Billy,” he sighs, trailing off when he figures there’s nothing else to say.

“He’s fine, Sam.” Goody pipes up before his partner has the chance. “Billy roughed him up a little, did a number on one of his arms that’s admittedly going to smart for a bit, and then let him be. After which, dear William was so impressed with him that he started talking to him like a real person and everything.”

“And it made the guards less inclined to bother me when I started poking around,” Billy cuts in. “That was the real reason I went for it, besides the fact that looking weak in front of Rask would’ve been a terrible idea.”

“So you attacked Vas.” There’s no mistaking the anger in Faraday’s voice, and this whole discussion is about three seconds from going south if someone doesn’t do something.

Luckily, Billy’s up to the task. “I put on a show with someone who knows me well enough to get where I was going with it, and who’s strong enough to handle what I throw at him. Even better, establishing a relationship where I pick at him made it easier to communicate.”

“Because he hasn’t been through enough already,” Faraday growls.

Unperturbed, Billy meets his gaze easily. “I didn’t want to do it, Faraday, and I went out of my way to make sure it was quick. It was just the best option.”

Sam can feel it as their entire meeting suddenly teeters on a knife edge, the outcome entirely dependent on whether or not Faraday can reel himself in enough to recognize what Billy’s telling him. Thankfully it appears that he can, as he blows out a harsh breath through his nose, and settles for glaring at Billy with all of his might.

“Fine,” he says eventually, and goes back to poking at the fire with that foolish stick of his. “What did you find in the mine?”

Goody takes over now, while Billy reclines back a little, his intention to keep quiet unless his input is needed plain. “The mine’s a little ways away from the house, close enough that they’re still within sight of each other if you’re in the right room of the building, but far enough away to be a bit of a slog. I figure our best bet will be to drive as many of the guards as possible in that direction. The less we have to deal with down in the mine, the better.”

“Any thoughts on how we do that?” Sam asks.

“I hadn’t at first,” Goody replies, “but Red suggested something that might work while we were covering the last bit of our trek.” He motions for the younger man to speak, but gets only an implacable stare instead, making it obvious that he’s to continue on on his own. “Right. The house has stables attached to it. Red suggested first freeing the horses, and then setting fire to the place. That should cause enough confusion to make Rask pull back all but a barebones crew from the mine to keep his home from going up in flames. Plus, he’ll want to try and contain a bunch of scared, rampaging horses as quickly as possible too.”

Jack nods sagely as Goody outlines the plan, letting out a noise of agreement as he sketches out ideas with his hands. "It's a smart thought. A man like Rask won't want to see his home destroyed, and I bet he's got some valuable animals in those stables. How many guards are there?"

"More than were in Rose Creek when we first showed up, but much less than in the final fight." Goody supplies. "If we can get the majority up to the stables, we should be able to take care of any left watching the prisoners."

"What's the compound setup like?" Faraday asks. He leans forward and drags his stick in the dirt by his feet, marking two boxes off side by side. "Say these are the house and the stables. How far off is the mine?"

Billy leans over in a position similar to Faraday's and points to a spot about two feet down from the first markers. "There's a rock face here, running perpendicular to the property. The mine entrance is about two thirds of the way down it."

"And the compound itself?" Faraday asks after he's obediently drawn this in.

"The whole thing is kind of sunken in," Goody says, holding up his hands to better illustrate what he means. "The house is at a higher level, almost as if you have to walk down into a valley or something similar to reach the mines, only this one is all rock."

"Like this?" Faraday traces a kind of sloping road from his original markers to the one Billy's suggested. 

"A little steeper, the path isn't the best and it's like it's carved into the terrain, with more rock faces on either side until you get into a big excavated part right in front of the entrance. Yes, like that." Goody sits back with a satisfied nod at Faraday's impromptu map. "Not bad, Joshua."

"Thanks," Faraday mutters, and Sam reckons he's being only partly sarcastic when he does so.

"That's the terrain and the main layout taken care of," Jack points out, "but there must be more. What kind of defences are we talking about?"

"The guards are the big thing," Goody says. "The damn place is crawling with them like a godforsaken anthill. It's not walled or barred in except for a building we figure has to be the prisoner barracks. That's about here, Faraday," he adds, gesturing helpfully at the spot. "And that's about it."

"No, it isn't." Billy says, coming in before anyone else has a chance. "You forgot the watchtower."

"Christ, I did." Goody snaps his fingers with an annoyed huff. "I must be more tired than I thought. It's over here. Right where the path converges with the excavation. Someone up there'd be able to see anyone down below."

"Be able to shoot them too," Red grunts. "We should take it out."

"No, not take it out," Sam says as an idea occurs to him. "Take it over. Think about it, it'll be just like Rose Creek. We stick our best shot up there, and suddenly we've got cover fire and the upper hand."

"He who controls the high ground controls the battlefield," Goody agrees. "I can probably weasel my way up there without much trouble, but I'll need my rifle and how to sneak that in I've no idea."

"So don't sneak it at all," Faraday says. He drops his stick for the time being and mimes cocking an imaginary rifle and staring down the barrel. "Tell Rask you want to repay all his hospitality with a demonstration and then walk right in there with the thing slung over your shoulder."

"Oh now that could work like a charm," Goody says rubbing his hands together gleefully. "Dear William obviously loves my more famous persona. He'd no doubt get a kick out of seeing it on display."

Sam blinks, unable to hide his surprise at how eager Goody is to get his hands dirty. It's not that he doesn't have faith in his oldest friend, but he does have some reservations after what happened the last time they'd tried this. "You sure you're up for that?" 

Goody ceases his hand rubbing, and his expression darkens noticeably. "You'd better believe I am," he says, voice tight, something like barely banked fury bubbling up to the surface. "And the second you see the conditions Rask has those people living in you'll understand why. This isn't just about Vasquez anymore. I want _all_ of those people out."

Sam winces. He'd been afraid that was what Goody was thinking, and now it's going to fall to him to point out the one thing his friend has forgotten. "They're still criminals, Goody. There's a limit to how much we can do for them."

"Bullshit." The exclamation is all the more shocking since it comes from Billy rather than Goody. As one every man seated around the fire turns to stare at him. "Rask told us himself he went after people guilty of petty crimes more often than not because he figured they'd be easier to control. We're letting them all go."

Thinking this over, Sam flicks his gaze around the camp and quickly realizes Billy's not the only one to share this sentiment. He supposes it shouldn't surprise him, they're all of them killers to some degree, with at least Faraday, Horne and Billy guilty of stunts that could see warrants hanging over their own heads, not a man among them can claim to be an innocent soul.

"Alright," he says after considering it further. He has to admit he doesn't much like the thought of shoving people who've been through hell right back in a different prison. "However. we're goin' to keep an eye out for the first bit. Anyone who seems like they're goin' to get into the wrong kind of trouble needs to be handled properly."

"I don't think we'll have a problem," Goody cuts in. "This lot look like they've been through enough. I reckon only Vasquez and maybe a handful of others would be in any shape to put up much of a fight. They'll come quietly."

"If they do, that'll be fine." Sam says, and that's the end of it.

*****

Their meeting breaks up not long afterwards. Goodnight and Billy head off to return to town, ever mindful of the appearances they have to keep up in case someone's watching, while Sam goes with them as far as the spot they've been using as a watch point. Jack toddles off to bed down at the outskirts of the camp, tired after a day of keeping a lookout for any approaching parties, and Red mutters something about checking snares before he vanishes into the undergrowth.

Faraday, however, stays right where he is, settled down near the now fading campfire with his attention focused on the makeshift map in front of him. There's not anything new it can tell him at this point, but there's only so many times he can fake needing to check the horses before that stops working as a distraction. The map, as well as the plan that comes with it, is something new, therefore holding his attention better than his usual busywork. 

It's a good plan, he decides as he runs over it for the dozenth time in his head. Not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, not with so many things that can potentially go wrong, but it's well thought out and detailed enough to account for all of the known variables, if not the unknown ones. All in all he supposes he should feel satisfied that they've reached a point where they can make a move.

And he's pleased about that, make no mistake. After all this time spent sitting around on his backside, feeling thoroughly useless and getting increasingly worried that too much time is slipping by, knowing that, one way or another, this nightmare ends tomorrow is cathartic to say the least. It's just all the possible outcomes that have him concerned now.

“You’re thinking too much.” Red reappears with a brace of rabbits slung over his shoulder. He drops them down not far from Faraday, and sits to begin dealing with them. “That’s not something I ever thought I’d say about you.”

Faraday considers cuffing him on the back of the head, but decides against it. Appropriate times to give Red a whack are few and far between, especially when he’s already holding a knife. “I hope you’re plannin’ to cook those before you eat ‘em,” he grumbles instead, and Red flashes him a smile with a lot of teeth.

“I usually do,” he admits slyly, “but that first time was worth it for the look on Sam’s face.”

Faraday snorts. This past little while has let him see a side to Red he'd never expected to find, one where learning the jackass had been having them all on during their initial meeting doesn’t much surprise him. “And people say I’m obnoxious.”

“You are,” Red replies, handing over the first of the rabbits. “Here, put this on the fire.”

“Are you honestly goin’ to make me cook your damn supper?” Faraday asks, although he immediately ruins the protest by shifting to do as Red’s asked. “Rude bastard.”

He can practically hear Red roll his eyes. “There are two rabbits, two of us, and you haven’t eaten yet. Be less stupid.”

“I think I liked you better when didn't talk.” Faraday mutters.

It’s a lie, of course, a pretty blatant one at that. Faraday’s always enjoyed having someone to play off of, and ever since Rose Creek he’s had one guaranteed partner, ready and willing to come back at him with a stinging quip to keep him on his toes. Part of him can’t help but wonder if Red knows his presence has helped ease the aching void that not having Vasquez at his side had left him with.

A glance over at his younger companion makes Faraday think he does. Red’s face may be more solemn than Vasquez’s usually is, but there’s an ever-present hint of mirth there now that Faraday knows to look for it. Red doesn’t miss much, and he has more fun as he goes about things than most people give him credit for.

“You want the first one?” He asks, motioning to the rabbit now mounted over the fire. “Seems only fair since you caught them.”

Red cocks his head to the side a bit, thinking it over, before nodding. “Fine, but you have to eat the other one. Tomorrow would be a bad day to set out on an empty stomach.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Faraday mutters, and the look Red gives him could blister the paint off a barn. “Oh, you should see your face right now.”

“You are not funny,” Red growls, glaring at Faraday. He keeps it up until he’s offered the now ready to be eaten rabbit, which he takes with an unimpressed grunt. “I’ll be glad when we get Vasquez back and he can be the one to listen to your stupid jokes.”

Faraday sobers at this, trading Red the prepared rabbit for the one that still needs to be placed over the fire. He watches the flames as the flicker back and forth, slowly turning the meat bronze. “Think you mean if we get him back, and if he wants to stick around after we do.”

Red looks up from the meal in his hands with a thoughtful noise. “Are you going to tell me why you two stopped travelling together?” He asks around a mouthful of rabbit.

“Chew your food, please,” Faraday says, “and no, I’m not. Everybody knows as much as they need to.”

Red makes a disapproving noise that Faraday would more expect to hear from the likes of Sam or Jack, one putting him in mind of an unimpressed parent. “Will you talk to him about it once he’s free at least?”

“Yeah,” Faraday tells him, staring into the fire once again so he can keep Red from seeing his expression. “I will if he lets me.”

That makes Red snort, almost spitting out the food he’s eating in the process. He chews for a few more seconds, and then swallows. “He’ll let you.”

He sounds confident in his assertion. Faraday hopes that carries over down the road.

*****

“How much longer are we goin’ to wait out here?” Faraday hisses. Next to him, Sam takes a deep, steadying breath, reminding himself not for the first time that the younger man has more of a stake in this fight than the rest of them, no matter that he refuses put a name to just what said stake is, and tries to keep his own exasperation from showing.

“We’re goin’ to wait as long as we have to, Faraday,” he says once he’s got himself mostly under control. The two of them plus Jack are parked up high in a spot that gives them a decent vantage point into the mine below. They’ve been here since early evening, had slunk over as dusk had arrived after making sure their horses were securely tethered far enough away to not attract the attention of Rask and his men, using the dimming light to help prevent them from being seen, wanting to make sure they were in place long before Red set off the signal.

“Later is better anyway, son,” Jack pipes up. He’s a little further down the stretch than Sam and Faraday are, and his voice is so low when it drifts over that it’s difficult to hear him. “Tired, half-asleep guards are more likely to make mistakes. They won’t be as alert as we are, and they’ll get caught up in the confusion.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I was listenin’ when you all laid out the finer details of the plan,” Faraday grunts. “I know why we waited until night fall, just like I know why Goody and Billy are deliberately occupying Rask’s time longer than normal, and why Red is over near the stables instead of over here with us. I get all of it; I’m just not goin’ to be able to lie here much longer.”

“And you won’t have to,” Sam assures him. “Look.” It’s dark enough by now that Faraday probably can’t see him well, indeed, the camp down below is lit only by a handful of lamps casting small circles of light where they sit, but there’s a new burst of light suddenly shining in the distance.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Faraday mutters when he spots this. He starts wriggling forward on his stomach, clearly intent on making his way down into the camp now, and it’s only Sam’s quick reflexes that stop him.

“No,” he says, more exasperated than before. “Damnit, Faraday, use what brains god gave you and stick to the plan. We don’t move until we see how many of the guards head for the stables and Goody’s got a chance to start pickin’ the stragglers off.”

Faraday makes a disgruntled noise, high and tight like he can’t manage to reign it in, and Sam tightens his grip lest the man slip away from him and do something to get himself killed before the rescue has even begun. “Settle, Faraday,” he says firmly. “It’s almost time.”

“Almost is terrible word,” Faraday shoots back, and Sam would ask him what he means by that, except the guards choose now to notice something’s going on up near their employer’s home.

Shouts ring out down in the compound, and most of the men who’ve been patrolling the area, or possibly finding other forms of amusement for themselves, who knows, converge on the prisoner’s barracks as a kind of impromptu central command. As Sam watches a couple men who must be among the higher ranks begin gesturing in a way he instantly recognizes as issuing orders, something he’ll never be able to mistake thanks to his time as a solider, and a chunk of the guards begin peeling off to take up their instructed tasks.

“Not as many of them are heading out as I’d hoped,” Jack says. “You think enough of them are moving?”

“I do,” Sam says. By his count a little less than half the guards are staying behind to maintain their posts. They’re not great odds, but they’re no worse than the ones they’d dealt with in Rose Creek and he’s confident they can work with them. “Goody and Billy should hopefully be here soon. Once they are that’ll tilt the scales more in our favour, and we’ll be able to go about our business.”

“And if they can’t get away?” Faraday asks.

That had always been a potential risk, one where Rask insisted his guests stay with him or help him deal with the problem at hand. Sam has faith in Goody’s ability to talk himself out of it should such a situation arrive, but he finds the idea unlikely enough to not be overly concerned it’ll even come to pass. “Just sit tight,” he decides. “If they’re not here soon, we’ll take matters into our own hands.”

“Been tryin’ to do that for _ages_ ,” Faraday grumbles, but he lapses back into silence and, even better, stops trying to move.

“Wish we had Red on this side now,” Jack says suddenly. He leans a little out of the covered position they’ve been maintaining, squinting down at the path that Rask’s men have just gone racing along. “His eyes are a fair bit better than mine. Likely he’d be more able to see the other boys coming.”

“We don’t have to see them comin’,” Sam points out. “Goody’s almost as decent a shot at night as he is durin’ the day, and there’s more than enough light down there to help him compensate for any trouble he might have. As soon as he’s up in that tower and starts droppin’ fellows on the ground, we’ll know.”

Almost as if Goody had heard them, there’s a shot from the direction of the watchtower. A man in the dead center of the compound jerks as the concussive force of the bullet slams directly into his chest, and then he drops to the ground amid the shocked bellows of his coworkers. From his perch up high, Faraday lets out a whoop. “Now can we go?”

“Lord give me strength,” Sam mutters. “Alright, Faraday, but god help me, if you go off on your own I will shoot you myself. We stick together.”

“Yeah, yeah, come on!” Already scrambling out of his hiding spot, Faraday’s about two seconds away from taking a dive right off the rock face when Sam and Jack catch up to him. “Let’s go!”

Two more men are dead by the time they hit the compound, and a third is struggling to crawl to cover with one hand clamped around his bleeding leg. Sam spares him a quick glance, determines there’s no gun within his reach, and dismisses him as he focuses on more immediate threats. The compound becomes awash with screams and running bodies, the confusion only increasing when Billy leaps out of the darkness with a pair of knives at the ready.

“And where the hell have you been?” Sam demands when he spots him. He notes that while one of Billy’s drawn knives is clean, the other most decidedly isn’t. There’s blood dripping from it freely, tiny crimson rivulets running along the blade to pool on the ground.

Sliding his other knife into his belt, Billy follows Sam’s gaze and pulls something out of his pocket with his now unoccupied hand. There’s a jingling sound, and he holds up a ring of keys. “I thought it might be easier to get Vasquez and the others out if we had these.”

Sam stares at him, impressed, and then barks out a laugh. “Fair enough. Toss ‘em to Jack, and we’ll cover him while he sees to that.”

Billy gives him a quick nod and does as requesting, lobbing the keys to Jack – currently the closest to the barracks entrance – in an easy throw, and pulling his knife from earlier back out in the same motion. He catches Sam’s eye and offers up a grin with nothing pleasant lurking inside it. “Shall we?”

Sam nods.

*****

Vasquez settles onto his usual pallet when the guards lock them in for the night, but he doesn’t drift off like he normally would. As tired as he is, he wants to be aware the moment his friends put their plan into action. He hears it when the guards start shouting outside, and sits up when a number of voices ring out not far from the door to the barracks. Through the initial jumble of sound he catches words like ‘stables’ and ‘fire’, allowing himself a sharp grin in the darkness as he parses out what kind of distraction the others have chosen.

“The hell’s going on?” Nadia asks tiredly from the spot next to him. She’s sitting up as well. Unlike him, however, she’s rubbing sleep out of her eyes, indicating that she’d been using her bed for its intended purpose while he’d lain awake beside her.

Still trying to listen in on the guard’s conversation, Vasquez shushes her. Ignoring her indignant squawk, he stands up fully and moves over to the door, trying to get a better idea of what their enemies are doing. The sound of running feet reaches his ears, running in the direction of the main house as it happens, and he allows himself a small glow of satisfaction at the thought of splitting apart Rask’s forces.

“Vasquez,” Nadia hisses. Too caught up in what he was doing, he’s missed her sidling up next to him. “What is it?”

“Our way out,” he tells her. “Someone set the stables on fire,” he adds when she gasps in surprise.

“So?” She demands. Her hands find his arm in the darkness, gripping tight. “How does that help us?”

"Easy,” he replies as he shrugs her off. “I know who did it.”

“That tells me a fat lot of nothin’, you Spanish jackass! Why do you think – what was that?” Cutting herself off mid-sentence, Nadia makes a confused noise as a gunshot rings out and the entire compound outside the enclosure descends into chaos as one of the guards starts screaming.

Based on where he thinks the shot had come from, Vasquez has a sneaking suspicion he knows who’d made it. Not too many people would have the skill to start a nighttime assault on the guards, especially from position up in the watchtower. He isn’t sure how Goodnight’s managed to shake Rask’s attention, though it likely has something to do with the fire burning elsewhere, but he’s damn glad he has.

More shots are fired; some of them followed by additional screams while others are echoed by thuds and crashes, possibly bodies hitting the ground, but also potentially miscues since not even Goodnight is going to hit everything he’s aiming at under these conditions. The shouting outside the barracks picks up, as does the sound of the guards all ducking for cover, and everyone inside comes awake in a flurry of confused exclamations.

As the only one who has any idea of what’s going on, Vasquez does his best to quiet them. He doesn’t have much success, unfortunately, not with how on edge they already are, and he’s still trying to get attention focused on him when the bolts of the barracks door slide back so Jack Horne can poke his head in.

“Oh, there you are.” The old man smiles when his eyes alight on Vasquez. “Been looking everywhere for you, boy. How’ve you been?”

Vasquez feels a sudden, pressing urge to either pinch the bridge of his nose or start laughing. Around him, silence flows over the rest of the prisoners as they all take in the oddball mountain man who’s come to deliver them from their tribulations.

Jack eyes them all for a moment, before stepping back out of the doorway and gesturing for them to come out. “Well now, don’t just stand there, folks. The lord helps those who help themselves, so you’d best shift and get a move on.”

No one moves, and Vasquez sighs. “It’s fine,” he says, pitching his voice to carry over the murmuring of those around him and the screams from out in the compound – it seems his people have decided to negotiate with extreme prejudice. “You can trust him, I promise. It’s time to go.”

Timothy, bless his trusting heart, is the first to step forward out of the crowd. He meets Vasquez’s gaze in the dim light, quirking an eyebrow at where Jack’s still silhouetted in the doorway, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. “You’re sure about this?”

“Sí,” Vasquez replies. “I fought with this one and the other men out there in a place much worse than this. They’re all here to help.”

That’s enough for Timothy. He shoulders his way through the rest of the crowd, not stopping until he’s reached the door, where he gives Jack a considering look. “Anything in particular you want me to do, sir?”

Jack motions with one hand, indicating where he wants them to start heading. “Just right on that way, son, and whatever you do don’t stop. The boys are going to cover you all as best they can, but we don’t have enough weapons for everyone, and the guards are only going to be distracted for so long. Get going!”

Timothy’s exit is apparently enough to spur the rest into action because they start moving with real speed after he’s out of the room. Moving single file except in one case where a man needs to be helped along, they get out of the barracks under Jack’s watchful gaze. When it’s Vasquez’s turn, the old man claps him on the shoulder and drags him over to his side.

“You stay where I can see you,” Jack says, his other hand resting on the handle of his ax. “I don’t want to think about what’ll happen if you get lost in this mess. Faraday’s liable to have a conniption and Sam and Goodnight won’t be far behind.”

Vasquez feels the same flutter in his chest that he’d had when Billy’d told him Faraday was here, a fact that he shoves to the back of his mind in light of the way they currently have more pressing matter to deal with. “I don’t see how I’ll do anything other than get in your way over here, amigo,” he says as he comes to rest to the left of Jack.

In response, Jack squeezes his shoulder with a heavy hand. “You let me be the judge of that.”

As Jack pulls his hand back and readjusts his grip on his ax, Nadia takes up position on Vasquez’s remaining side. “What,” she says heavily, “is going on here?”

“Can’t you recognize a rescue when you see one?” Vasquez asks. He lets his eyes roam over the compound, a number of men who hadn’t been fast enough to get out of the way in the chaos are lying dead or injured on the ground, most of them with bullet hole wounds, but some, among them the man who’s nose he’d nearly gotten killed for breaking, having been brought down by arrows.

“Where’s Red?” He asks when he notices this.

“Up on one of the cliffs overlooking the valley,” Jack replies. “It was him who set up the distraction over at the house, while everyone else is down here either getting you out or keeping the bastards away from you.”

“The house!” Nadia’s hand shoots out and latches onto Vasquez’s elbow with a grip painful enough it’ll likely leave marks in the end. “None of your people went to the house!”

“Why should they?” Vasquez asks, trying without much success to pry her fingers off of him. “Nadia, let go.”

She doesn’t, and uses her hold to shake him instead. “We have to get to the house. Molly’s in there!”

“Maldita, you’re right,” Vasquez swears viciously and calls himself seven different kinds of stupid for having forgot about the girl. He’d never even thought to warn Billy how she wouldn’t be down with the rest of them. He whirls around to stare at Horne. “Jack, tell me you have a gun I can use.”

“No gun,” Jack says apologetically. He takes his big hunting knife out of his belt and offers it over. “My rifle’s no use to me in a fight down here, but you’re welcome to take this.”

Pleased that his friend isn’t going to tell him he has to stay put, Vasquez gingerly takes the knife. “Gracias, amigo, but I’m afraid guns are much more my style. Maybe I can get one off a corpse.”

“You do that and you’re risking getting your fool head shot off by going out in the open. Here, give that to me!” Thrusting her hand forward, Nadia grabs the knife from him, flipping it in her hand with practiced ease. She flashes Vasquez a grin, her teeth a brilliant flash of white in the dark, and for the first time he can see the woman who dealt with her husband’s repeated abuses by spilling his blood all over the kitchen floor. “Best it be in the hands of someone who knows how to use it. Come on!”

Not wanting her to get too far ahead, he throws a quick, “Tell the others where we’ve gone,” over his shoulder and follows after her. Jack will be sure to let anyone who can help know where they are, which they may very well need depending on the state of things in the house.

For all that she’s the better part of a foot shorter than he is, Nadia’s impressively fast as she tears up the path towards their destination, and Vasquez has to run to catch up to her. As they near the house, they can see that the fire in the stables hasn’t reached it yet, and is in fact being contained by all the men milling about for all that it’s an impressively large blaze. On the plus side, everyone involved in this task is too busy to pay them any mind.

“You think Rask’s over there?” Nadia asks as he draws near.

He eyes the way she’s gripping the knife in her hand warily. “If he is, you won’t be able to take him down with all those men surrounding him.” When she turns to look at him, her expression flat, he shrugs. “You know I’m right. Let’s just get Molly and get out of here. With luck Rask _is_ over there, and we’ll be able to walk through the house without any trouble.”

“Fine,” she grits out. She once again heads off in the direction of the house, though he’s relieved to see she’s at least slowed her pace to a walk. They’ll be much more inconspicuous if they’re not darting about like a pair of bats out of hell.

The nearest door to the house is hanging wide open as they approach, a fact Vasquez takes as a good sign. It looks as if Rask has gone tearing outside upon hearing his stables were on fire, no doubt concerned by the possibility of it spreading to the house and consuming the second building as well.

“Wonder if anyone’s even in here?” Nadia remarks as they cautiously step inside.

She keeps her voice pitched low so as not to alert any potential problem causers, and when he replies Vasquez does the same. “Molly should be. There’d be no reason for her to go down to the stables with the men. Unless,” he grimaces as an unpleasant thought occurs to him. “Do you think she’d use this as an opportunity to run?”

“I doubt it,” Nadia says, and she sounds certain enough. “I think she’d be too scared to risk it.”

Vasquez decides to take her at her word. If Molly has left the house they’re going to have a devil of a time trying to find her in the dark, so it’ll be better for all parties involved if she’s still here. “You said you two had a room when you worked as a maid. We should check there first.”

Nadia nods her head in agreement, indicating he should follow her with a waved hand. “It’s down this way.”

She leads him to a little room tucked away at the back of the house, one that appears to be separate from the main servants’ quarters. In hindsight, he realizes that’s probably a good thing since Rask lets his men use those when they’re not patrolling down in the compound. Molly was probably safer down here by herself.

The door swings open easily as Nadia pushes it. Soft candlelight from a single wick burning in a holder near one of the beds drifts out into the hallway, making it obvious that no one is inside. Nadia swears. “She was probably still up because Rask had company and might've called for her, but that doesn’t tell us where she is now.”

A sharp scream emitting from somewhere on the second floor causes both of them to stiffen, and Vasquez meets Nadia’s wide-eyes gaze with a frown of his own. “I think we just found out.”

“Fucking hell,” Nadia barks. Shoving past him she hustles out of the room and off towards the stairs, Jack’s knife ready and waiting in her hand as she goes. “Don’t just stand there, that had to be her!”

“Nadia!” He makes a futile grab for her, but really needn’t have bothered as she ducks out of his reach and continues on her way. Not wanting to picture what might happen if he loses her in this mess, he follows quickly on her heels, wincing when Molly screams again. It’s not a pained scream, which should maybe stand for something, but it’s heavily laced with fear, implying she's in serious trouble.

Now calling the girl’s name, Nadia climbs the stairs as fast as she’s able with Vasquez right behind her. A door slams in the distance, and Vasquez can make out at least two distinct male voices from wherever it is. Then the voices draw closer, and he sees a pair of men coming down the hallway towards them.

Groaning inwardly – the men haven’t drawn their weapons yet, but one is already reaching for his -, Vasquez shoves past Nadia, getting his shoulder down so he can ram it into the target in question. They both go down in a tangle of limbs, rolling across the floor as they grapple and tripping the other guard up in the process.

Vasquez hears the second man hit the ground with a pained grunt, but he’s far too busy dealing with his companion to do anything about it. He yelps as the guard shoves at the side of his head, momentarily seeing stars as his face gets slammed into a hand carved table taking up space against the wall. Shaking his head, he kicks out and catches the man in the knee making him howl.

The two of them struggle apart for a matter of seconds, each of them breathing heavily and taking a moment to size up his opponent. Unwilling to give the man enough time to remember he has weapons he can draw, Vasquez moves to lash out first so they can come together in the hallway. However, it turns out he shouldn’t have bothered.

A hand appears in the guard’s hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. Her teeth barred and her eyes shining, Nadia brings her knife across it, spraying the surrounding area with blood as the man chokes and collapses onto the floor. He thrashes once or twice, and then lies still, not far from his cohort, who Vasquez now sees is already dead.

Panting heavily, Vasquez stares up at Nadia, impressed in spite of himself. “Remind me never to make you angry with me,” he says. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

She responds with a hollow laugh, pushing sweaty hair away from her face and back behind her ear. “Farm girl, remember? A man’s throat isn’t much harder to cut than a pig or a sheep’s. not that it matters. Let’s just get Molly. I want to put this place out of my life for good.”

Since he couldn’t agree with her more, Vasquez nods and says nothing further. The door to the room the two guards had exited is still ajar, and it appears to be unoccupied at first glance. Then a tiny, choked off whimper sounds out, and both his and Nadia’s gazes are drawn to the large desk at the center of the room.

“She’s small enough to fit under there,” Nadia murmurs, “but she can’t stay.”

“Then perhaps you had best get her out,” Vasquez suggests. “What?” He adds when she looks at him. “She doesn’t know me, you’re the better choice.”

“I’m covered in blood,” Nadia says, holding up her hands as evidence. “I’ll only scare her more.”

Vasquez doesn’t see how he’ll be any less frightening to a terrified girl who’s never met him, but Nadia’s not budging and they're running out of time. Shoving the desk chair out of the way, he gets down on his knees and peers at the small form huddled underneath the carved wood. “Easy, senorita,” he says softly, trying to seem as nonthreatening as possible. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

Molly, who to his horror is even younger than he’d first realized, likely not even out of her teens yet, obviously doesn’t believe him, not if the way she sniffles and buries her face in her skirts is any indication, anyway. Unwilling to pull her out by force, Vasquez chews absently on his bottom lip and wonders what he should do.

Elsewhere he hears the sound of glassware clinking, followed by one of sloshing liquid. Looking over he sees that Nadia’s pulled a decanter out of a cabinet and is using the alcohol to rinse some of the blood off her hands. No doubt it’ll help, although her clothes are most likely a lost clause. “She won’t come out,” he says once he’s caught her eye. “You should try.”

Huffing, Nadia sets the decanter down and crosses the room. “Alright, shift yourself then. Let me get in there.”

Scrambling out of the way, Vasquez stands to let her take his place. As Nadia settles in position with a quiet, “Molly, honey, we need you to come out,” he looks around the room to see if there’s anything else in it they might make use of. It occurs to him that he should have thought to rid the men they’d fought with of their guns, and he considers the odds of whether or not there might be anything in this room he can use to defend himself.

While Nadia continues coaxing Molly out of her hiding place, he prowls throughout the room, peering among the shelves and pulling open whatever cupboards and drawers he comes across. He figures Rask must use this room as some kind of study or office based on the desk and all the books. It’s possible he might have a gun or two tucked away somewhere no one would notice.

Nadia’s finally managed to pry Molly out from under the desk and into the relative safety of her arms when more noise starts up outside the room. “Damnit,” she groans. Out of the corner of his eye, Vasquez sees her reach for the knife again. “The last thing we need is more of those people.”

Vasquez is in complete agreement with her position, but as he listens some more a grin slowly stretches across his face and he motions for Nadia to wait. She gives him a skeptical look as they hear an irritated voice snap something about not wanting to search all over hell and creation, and Vasquez has a sudden urge to crow victoriously.

“It’s alright,” he says to Nadia as she shuffles herself and Molly around so they’re positioned behind him. “Those aren’t Rask’s men.”

“Some of yours then, are they?” She asks. “Vasquez, I have to tell you, I would’ve appreciated a bit more of a heads up than we had. This is insane.”

“Maybe a little,” he admits, “but we were short on time and couldn’t risk anyone letting slip what was going to happen.”

Nadia grumbles something unintelligible under her breath that Vasquez can’t make out, and doesn’t bother to try. His friends are getting closer, with Faraday’s mutinous muttering now overlapping Sam’s softer but still firm admissions. He grins.

*****

The moment they catch up with Jack and he tells them where Vasquez has gone, Faraday points himself in the direction of the house and starts moving. First Sam and then Billy fall into step behind him, with Sam shouting a quick “We’ll find Vasquez, you, Goody and Red keep things contained down here,” to Jack. Then they’re running flat out, all while cutting a swath through anyone who tries to get in their way.

Faraday's momentarily taken aback by how well lit the house is as they approach. It's only after thinking on it a moment that he realizes, of course it is - Rask had been entertaining guests in the form of Goodnight and Billy right up until he'd been alerted about the issue in the stables. He'd hardly have stopped to turn down all the lamps on his way out.

The door is hanging wide open, swinging slowly back and forth in the small night breeze when they reach it. Faraday moves to step inside, but Billy stops him with a hand on his chest. "Always best to look before you leap," the smaller man says in answer to Faraday's raised eyebrow.

Angling his body so as to present as little of it as possible as a potential target, Billy risks a peek around the door, simply staring for a moment as he assesses what he sees. Apparently satisfied with what the interior of the house has seen fit to show him, he leans back out again and waves Sam and Faraday forward. "All clear."

Grumbling quietly, Faraday steps in now that he's been given permission. "How do you reckon we play this?" He murmurs once Sam and Billy have caught up to him. "It's a big house. Should we separate to cover more ground?"

Sam makes a disagreeing noise at this suggestion. "I'm not much in favour of splittin' up. We've already got one person wanderin' around somewhere unknown, there's no reason to add to the confusion."

"Fine," Faraday says, too impatient to argue. "Upstairs or downstairs first?"

"Upstairs," Billy insists. "If we start at the bottom and work our way down we won't be able to miss them."

Decision made, and seeing no reason to keep standing around jawing about it, Faraday nods once and heads for the staircase. He moves slower than he maybe normally would in an effort to keep the noise down, yet his pace is still brisk as he takes the stairs two at a time.

"Holy shit," he says when he reaches the top. There's a pair of bodies sprawled on the floor a little ways down the hall, obviously dead since no one with as much blood pooling around the two of them as they have could possibly still be living. His heart clenches for the second it takes him to ascertain that neither of them is Vasquez, and he hisses out a relieved breath when that's not the case.

Billy lets out a low whistle as he crouches down beside the bodies. "Someone did this with a knife, probably the same someone. It's good work."

"As good as yours?" Sam asks dubiously, and Billy's answering snort is all the response anyone needs. "I thought not."

Getting impatient, Faraday cuts in before their discussion continues further. "Can we keep movin' please? I came in here with one job to do, and I don't much want to spend the night searchin' all over hell and creation to finish it. I want to find Vas!"

The sudden sound of raised voices from a room a few doors down catches all of their attention. First there's the worried tones of a woman, followed by the deeper sounds of a man. Low. Accented.

Faraday surges forward. He knows that voice; he's heard it call his name in his dreams almost every night since Huron Valley. There's no way he's waiting here one second longer.

He shoves the doors in front of him open and charges through them with Ethel held at the ready. By reacting on pure instinct he's able to take the room in and assess it for potential danger - there is none, the two women huddled together in the corner are immediately dismissed as viable threats, despite the blood liberally coating one of them - after which his entire focus is drawn to the massive mahogany desk that dominates the room and the man standing behind it.

"God almighty," he breathes, a prayer of thanks sent up to anyone who might be listening in. Ethel clatters down on the polished wood of the desk, a sound he barely registers as he darts around the piece of furniture and gathers Vasquez into his arms without a conscious thought. 

The man lets out a startled yelp as Faraday grabs him, the words getting muffled as Faraday hauls him in and clutches him against his body, his grip so tight that Vasquez winds up with his face mashed into a broad shoulder because he can't duck away quick enough. All the while Faraday is muttering successive words of thanks, each more ragged than the last as it slowly sinks in for him that Vasquez is here, he's alive, and he's safe. 

Faraday pulls back so that he can adjust his grip and allow Vasquez a little breathing room. He wraps his hands over bony shoulders, distantly noting how there's not as much weight there as there should be, and shakes him gently. "Don't you ever do this to me again, do you hear me? Goddamned Mexican menace, I've never been so scared in all my life!"

Once again Vasquez tries to get a word in edgewise and Faraday cuts him off by reeling him in a second time. He knows he has no right to this, knows that it'd be more than fair for Vasquez to sock him in the jaw and tear out of this compound, leaving Faraday and all the trouble he represents behind him in his wake. That's probably why he can't bring himself to let go. Even if he's blown the only chance he's ever going to get, at least he'll be able to say he had one moment where everything was right and good and perfect. 

Or maybe not quite perfect. He wants to do more than hold Vasquez, wants to go back to what they'd started in Huron Valley before things had so spectacularly gone to shit, but that would be asking too much. The others may know the depths of the feelings that have been underlying this whole venture - they're not idiots after all - but there's a time and a place to discuss such matters and this isn't it. 

Giving Vasquez one last backbreaking squeeze, he steps back so that the man can shake free of his grasp if he so chooses, though he doesn't entirely release his grip. Honestly, he doesn't think he can. Instead, he keeps one hand on the man's shoulder, unable to hold back the no doubt ridiculous looking smile that crosses his face.

Vasquez cocks his head to the side, eyeing him slowly, and then curls his hand over the wrist of Faraday's extended arm. His answering smile is more subdued than anything Faraday knows is gracing his own face, but it's genuine for all that it's tired. "I've missed you too, mijo."

Faraday feels it as the last of the agonizing tension that's taken up root in his chest cavity finally breaks free and starts to dissipate at hearing those words. He ducks his head down, but only for a moment, unable to handle not being able to see Vasquez even with the hand he still has anchored to the other man's shoulder. "Hell of a place for a reunion, wouldn't you say?"

"Sí, I would," Vasquez agrees, "and if you don't mind, it would give me great pleasure to leave it now. Permanently."

"That can be arranged." Faraday promises. He brings his free hand up, although to do what he's not quite sure, only to drop it immediately when he hears the sound of a throat clearing in the doorway. Turning, he finds Sam there, the other man no doubt having followed him after he'd taken off half-cocked upon hearing Vasquez's voice.

"Hey, Sam," he says with a grin. "Look what I found."

Sam flashes him a pleased smile and dips his head in response. "My eyes work fine, Faraday. Good to see you, Vasquez."

"It's good to be seen, amigo," Vasquez rumbles. Faraday can feel the words where he now has one arm curled loosely around him, keeping the other man close. "You took a chance coming after me."

"Wasn't like we had much of a choice," Faraday points out. He shakes Vasquez a little when the man gives him a confused frown. "Vas, the day I leave you in a hellhole like this is the day they put me in the ground. Coming to get you was the only option available once we learned where you were."

Vasquez stares at him, his expression unreadable. "It was still a risk," he says finally, and rather than argue with him, Faraday reaches up and ruffles his hair in the way he knows drives him crazy.

"Worth it," he says, grinning as Vasquez makes an annoyed noise and tries to squirm away from him. "You could use a trim there, muchacho, and also a bath. Not to mention a good meal or three."

"All things bein' considered, I'd say he looks better than I was expectin'," Sam says. He moves into the room and steps over to their little portion of it as Faraday snorts.

"Bullshit, Sam. Look at him." He sweeps his gaze critically over Vasquez's body and has to fight back a sudden urge to growl. "He's skinnier than he was the time you pulled him out of the brush near Junction City. There's no meat on him anywhere."

"Looks like he could use a couple night's worth of sleep more than anything else," Sam replies, and Faraday has to admit this is true. There are dark circles under Vasquez's eyes, ones that speak of the kind of bone deep tiredness that leave a man dead on his feet.

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Faraday agrees. He scowls as, for the first time since he'd entered this room, it fully dawns on him just how much of a mess Vasquez is. Along with the weight loss and the visible exhaustion, he's got cuts and bruises all over the place, marks upon marks that tell a most unpleasant story.

Tracing the line of a particularly nasty gash above the man's left eyebrow with a finger, one that's still bleeding sluggishly, he frowns. "Should've asked you if you were alright before I started manhandling you around like that, sorry. Billy already came clean about the number he did on your arm, but are you hurt anywhere else?"

Vasquez shakes his head, and Sam lets out a pleased sound. "Good, then there's somethin' I need to do. Move, Faraday, you can have him back in a second."

Not happy with this command, Faraday nevertheless obeys and shuffles over a couple inches to the side. He continues to hover close enough that he can stretch out and make a grab for Vasquez if he needs to, but now there's enough space for Sam to slide in as well.

"C'mere, son and let me see you." Vasquez's eyes go wide and startled, meeting Faraday's over the top of Sam's shoulder as the older man pulls him into an embrace that is only slightly less fervent than the ones he's previously suffered through. "You ever pull a stunt like this again and I will beat your ass back to Mexico, you got that?"

"Uh, yes. Sí." Vasquez replies. He tentatively pats Sam on the back a couple of times, clearly uncomfortable. "I didn't mean to cause you so much trouble."

Sam lets him go then, and gives him a sharp look. "Remind me to give you a good whack upside the head when you're not covered in bruises anymore," he says gruffly, reaching up and shaking Vasquez once or twice by the scruff of his neck. "Trouble my ass. I'm talkin' about the years you took off my life when we thought the worst had happened. I'm gettin' old, Vasquez, I don't have that many years to spare."

"Hey, careful with him," Faraday protests as Sam punctuates his words with another shake. "He's not a fuckin' rag doll, Chisolm, let him go."

"You were just shakin' him, Faraday." Sam points out, but he stops what he's doing anyway. "Take your own advice."

Faraday scowls at him, wishing he could think of a proper comeback, and getting all the more annoyed when he can't. He settles for shoving his way in between the two men, calming somewhat when he can brush his fingers over Vasquez's arm, the touch grounding in a way nothing else is. 

A cough sounds out suddenly, and all three of them turn to find Billy silhouetted in the doorway with his pistol in one hand and a knife in the other. Upon realizing he has their attention, he gestures with the hand holding his gun. "Not that I want to break up this reunion, but we really should be moving on. Rask's men are still all over the place."

"Hey, I recognize you!" A new voice snaps, and Faraday turns to find one of the two women from earlier shoving the other one protectively behind her. In all the commotion he'd completely forgotten about them.

The woman raises a finger and jabs it viciously in Billy's direction. "You're one of those two bastards who've been hanging around Rask these past couple days. You're his fucking buddy."

"No." Billy says flatly, giving her one of his coolest stares. "I'm not."

"It's true, Nadia," Vasquez says before she can argue further. He nods his head firmly. "Billy is a friend of mine. A good one. Goodnight too, wherever he is."

"He's with Jack and Red," Sam supplies helpfully. "We've got somethin' of a two pronged attack on the go here, so we had to split up."

As Vasquez nods in understanding, the woman, Nadia, continues pointing at Billy. "What the hell kind of friend is he? He's been singling you out personally the whole time he's been here. He shoved you face first into a water trough yesterday!"

"He did what? Rocks!" Faraday barks, but Vasquez cuts him off with a laugh and a grin flashed in Billy's direction.

"Yes, I owe you for that one, hermano. Felt damn good thanks to how hot out it was. Once I could breathe again, of course," he adds slyly.

Billy's answering grin is sharper, but still fond. "I did my best to work with what I was given. Do me a favour though and don't tell Faraday anything else. I like not having to sleep with one eye open.

"You'll be sleepin' with both eyes open by the time I'm done with you," Faraday growls, not caring that he's talking to man who could incapacitate him with his pinky. "The fuck did you do him, asshole?"

"Nothing permanent, guero," Vasquez assures him, easily cutting Faraday off mid-rant with a hand on his elbow. "It was a good way to lull Rask into a false sense of security. We never would have been able to talk without it and besides, some of it was kind of fun."

"You've been in here too long, Vas." Faraday grunts. "Your brain's gone and gotten all warped."

"All the more reason for me to leave then, wouldn't you say? As well as everybody else." This time the grin Vasquez gives him is somewhat forced, and Faraday feels like a dog with its hackles rising at the sight.

“Yeah,” he grits out, “that’s a fair assumption. Come on.” He gestures for Vasquez to fall into step beside him, not willing to have the other man anywhere he can’t see. “Let’s get out of here.”

*****

Even though he’d known this was coming, Vasquez can’t stop his mind from reeling as the six of them pull out of Rask’s office and head for the stairs. Everything is overwhelming, from the sound of gunfire barking out from within the compound to the pounding of his own heart in his chest to the phantom touch on his body where Faraday had hauled him in for an embrace that rattled his bones. He has to fight to keep it all at bay while he concentrates on the much more pressing matter of getting them all out of here.

Billy takes point as they make their way through the house, while Sam follows close on his heels. Molly and Nadia follow them, which helps because Vasquez wants to see where they are, and he and Faraday bring up the rear. Only Faraday and the two men in front are currently armed with guns – Vasquez hadn’t had any luck in finding one in Rask’s office – so it’s necessary to keep the three who aren’t clustered somewhat in the middle.

They’ve made it down the stairs and are approaching the front entrance when a shout rings out and a bullet slams into the wall directly behind where Billy had been standing a moment before. Everyone ducks for cover behind the nearest pieces of furniture, and Vasquez finds himself dropping down shoulder to shoulder with Faraday as another bullet takes out a vase adorning a shelf not far above them.

“Jesus fuck,” Faraday barks. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“There’s more than one entrance,” Vasquez replies gesturing wildly with one hand. “My guess is someone just came through the one to the side. It’s mainly for servants and tradesmen, but everyone around here knows it’s there.”

“Right,” Faraday acknowledges. Luckily, he sounds more resigned than annoyed. His tone shifts dramatically, however, when Vasquez nudges up onto his knees to peek over the edge of the chaise lounge they’re hiding behind. “The fuck are you doin’, you idiot? Get down!”

Vasquez hisses as Faraday gets a grip on the back of his shirt and uses it to haul him back down to his level. “I was trying to see how many people are out there,” he barks.

“Yeah? Well do me a favour and don’t do it in such a way that’s liable to get your fuckin’ head blown off!” Faraday snaps. “I’ve had enough years taken off my life today, thanks! Damnit, Vas!” He adds when Vasquez ignores him in favour of peeking out again. “Now what’re you doin’?”

Flapping a hand at him, Vasquez makes an irritable sound and prepares to move. Keeping his head down low, he shuffles out from behind the chaise and half stumbles half crawls from one piece of cover to the next. A hand grabs at him as he goes, and he turns to motion Faraday after him. “Guero, that’s Rask out there. I am _not_ letting that pinche cabrón get away from me!”

Faraday swears for the umpteenth time in however many minutes, but nevertheless flings himself down beside Vasquez behind his latest cover. Then he twists and motions towards someone outside of Vasquez’s field of vision. “Sam!” He barks. “We’re goin’ after Rask. Apparently Vas has strong feelin’s about killin’ the son of a bitch, and I can’t really say as I blame him. Get the girls out of here, and we’ll meet you when we’re done.”

Sam makes an affirmative sound from where he’d hunkered down on the opposite side of the room, and Vasquez contorts himself enough to see it as he signals for Billy, who’s wedged into an awning that few men would be small enough to fit in, to follow him. “You want to give us some cover while we go? Seems only fair after Rose Creek.”

Faraday lets out a half mad cackle that Vasquez usually associates with the moment immediately before he starts a bar fight and does as requested, lunging up out of his protected position and firing off a few wild shots to keep Rask pinned down wherever he is so that the others have time to get out. He stops as soon as the door slams shut behind them and flops back down next to Vasquez. Flashing one of his trademarked wild grins, he sets about checking his guns. “You sure you want to do this? Probably be smarter to run and regroup first.”

Vasquez answers with a feral grin of his own. “I want him dead, Faraday. Not just for me, but for every single person he’s trapped in this hellpit.”

Faraday gives him a long look, and then slowly reaches behind him to pull one of his guns from his belt. Holding it out, he offers it to Vasquez handle first. “You’re goin’ to need this then.”

Taking the gun, Vasquez wraps his hand around it, getting used to the feel of holding a real weapon again. Then he squints as he realizes which gun it is Faraday’s given him. “Maria?”

“Maria,” Faraday confirms, his grin stretching even wider. “I figure it's fittin’. You ready?”

“You have no idea,” Vasquez replies. The bullets that had been slamming into the wall previously have ceased, indicating that Rask is now elsewhere in the house if he hasn’t left it entirely. Vasquez isn’t about to let that stop him, though. Wherever he is, Rask can’t have gotten far.

Together, Vasquez and Faraday stand up and head in search of their quarry. It’s easy to fall into step like this, they’ve always worked well as a team and there’s no reason for that to change. Vasquez feels a little thrill run through him as they stalk side by side throughout the house.

“You have any idea where this bastard might choose to hide?” Faraday murmurs as they comb through the rooms on this level. “Red set the horses free before settin’ the stables on fire, so he ain’t gettin’ out that way, and I doubt he’s goin’ to want to stick around here for when the fire spreads.”

Vasquez racks his brain for a likely idea. With the stables on fire and the compound overrun by those who wished him harm, Rask had likely come back to the house in the hopes of finding some of his men for protection. Given that most of them had been drawn away to deal with the stables, not to mention the possibilit of a horse or two left milling around, that had to be where he’d go next. Vasquez says as much aloud, and Faraday nods in understanding.

“Alright, what’s the best way to get there from here?”

A door slams in the distance and Vasquez swears. “The back entrance,” he growls. “There’s a path down off the veranda that leads directly to the stables. It's well lit, so he won't have trouble finding his way.”

“Time to go then.” Faraday quips.

They dart off towards the entrance in question with Vasquez taking the lead and Faraday following a step or two behind him, since, although he hasn’t spent much time in the house, Vasquez still knows it's layout better out of the two of them. Hitting the back of the house at almost the same time, they race for the door that’s still rattling slightly from the force with which Rask much have yanked it shut. Not caring if he does it any damage, Vasquez tears the thing open and ducks through it with Faraday right on his heels.

Coming outside it takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the change in lighting, and Faraday must recover first because he grips Vasquez’s elbow sharply, pointing at something in the distance. “There,” he snaps, and Vasquez’s vision clears enough for him to make out Rask as he runs flat out down the path that will take him to the stables.

Vasquez swears. “If he gets to his men the two of us won’t be enough to stop him.”

Faraday gives him a grin that would be deeply unsettling if it were coming from anybody else. “So we don’t let him get that far. Move.” Motioning Vasquez to the side, he raises his peacemaker as he gets Rask in his sights. “My old girl’s no rifle and I’m no Goodnight, but I reckon I can slow him down.”

Before Vasquez can say anything, he fires off a quick round that sees Rask drop into the dirt with one hand clutching his side. the sight visible thanks to the lamps lining the path. Impressed in spite of himself, Rask hadn’t exactly been close and Ethel’s range was limited at a distance, Vasquez quirks an eyebrow at him. “Nice shot, but why didn’t you kill him?”

Faraday’s expression devolves into a mix of smug and downright unpleasant. “I figured you’d want to do the honours. That and I don’t think he deserves to go out quite that quick.”

Somewhat taken aback, Vasquez nevertheless moves to climb down off the veranda and heads swiftly towards their fallen enemy. He approaches cautiously, fully expecting Rask to be armed, and it’s only when he draws closer that he sees Rask has lost his grip on his pistol as when he fell. It’s lying in the grass not far from him as he reaches for it with one hand while he keeps the other clamped over his bleeding wound.

“I don’t think so, friend,” Faraday says, spotting this at the same time Vasquez does. His voice is harsh, and he steps forward to kick the gun thoroughly out of Rask’s reach. “You’re done.”

Rask hisses and brings the hand that had been trying to get his gun down to join it’s fellow where it’s pressed over his blood slick clothes. “You mean to tell me you’re going to kill an unarmed man?” He gasps, his lips drawn into a pained grimace and his face white. “That’s hardly honourable of you.”

Faraday makes a thoughtful noise and circles around him, putting Vasquez in mind of a large cat playing with a trapped rodent. “Can’t say I’m too worried about wasting honour on the likes of you,” he drawls. “What do you think, Vas?”

Vasquez purses his lips as he thinks it over. “Sam would tell us to let the authorities deal with him.”

“Even if I thought that were true, Sam ain’t here,” Faraday replies, “and I don’t think you’re all that interested in goin’ to get him.”

“You’re right. I’m not.” Rask’s eyes widen as he realizes what’s about to happen, but Vasquez doesn’t give him the chance to say anything. Thinking about all the things this man has done, all the people he’s harmed, he raises Faraday’s gun and pulls the trigger.


	4. Chapter 4

Vasquez stares down at the corpse of the man who’s been holding him prisoner for so long and feels … nothing.

Or, well, that’s not true. He feels a strange sort of detachment. Almost as if his brain can’t comprehend the fact that this nightmare is finally over. Even though he’d known this was coming, known it was the goal all along from the moment Goodnight and Billy had found him on his knees in a polished parlour, about to be executed for having the gall to defend someone weaker than him, he doesn’t know how to process the fact that they’ve won.

“Vas?” Faraday’s voice, heavily laced with worry, reaches his ears, but it’s not until he feels the touch of the man’s hand on his arm that Vasquez fully acknowledges his presence.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs. He can’t take his eyes off Rask’s body, and the words come out by rote memory, like it’s someone else altogether who’s saying them.

“Now why don’t I believe that?” Faraday asks. He tugs at Vasquez’s arm and nudges him back towards the house, speaking softly, the way a man does when he wants to calm a spooked horse. “Let’s sit down for a second, alright?”

Vasquez blinks. He’s somehow missed them crossing several meters of lawn because all of a sudden the front steps of the veranda are right in front of him. “How?” He asks.

“Sit, Vas.” Faraday says again, and Vasquez all but collapses onto the steps, folding down into a crouch as he lands on the well-kept wood like a puppet whose strings have been cut. He’s always hated puppets, has never liked the idea of being controlled by some outside force.

“Vas?” For at least the third time in as many minutes, Faraday yanks him out of the daze his mind keeps trying to get lost in. A heavy hand lands on the back of his neck, grounding him better than anything else could as fingers brush through the short hairs at his nape, over and over, back and forth, back and forth. “Just breathe, Vas. It’s over.”

Not trusting his voice at the moment, Vasquez nods once, a short, sharp jerk of his head to show that he’s listening and he understands.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” Faraday continues on in the same measured tone that’s so unlike his usual gregarious nature. “He’s gone. You got him.”

“Sí,” Vasquez says shakily, the one word almost more than he can handle. His previous detachment is fading, replaced by what feels like a thousand thoughts at once, all of them clamouring for his attention and none of them managing to gain it because they keep overriding each other. “What do we do now?”

“We get the hell out of here as soon as you’re ready,” Faraday assures him, not realizing that Vasquez is talking less about their immediate need for escape and more about just the two of them. Although, that’s fair seeing as how Vasquez himself hadn’t realized it until after he’d asked the question.

They sit like that for a full minute, during which Vasquez gives some serious thought to trying to explain what he’d meant. Faraday’s hand is still a steadying weight on his neck and the memory of the way he’d clung on during their initial reunion is fresh in Vasquez’s mind. Raising his head he takes a shuddering breath and looks over to find bright green eyes watching him worriedly.

Faraday’s free hand lands on Vasquez’s shoulder, resulting in him being held in some kind of bizarre half-hug, one that goes a long way to helping his muscles begin to unlock. He stares at Faraday. “I wasn’t sure anyone would find me.” He admits putting words to the biggest fear he’s had since first being led into the compound however long ago.

“Well you did a damn fine job of gettin’ yourself into a mess where we didn’t know there was anywhere to look,” Faraday informs him. He’s trying to bring humour into the situation, Vasquez recognizes the specific tone he uses for that, but it’s obvious it’s not working for either of them.

“Faraday! Vasquez!” The sound of a familiar voice causes them both to look up as Billy comes storming through the back door of the house. He skids to a stop when he sees them, panting slightly. “Are you two alright?”

Faraday raises a questioning eyebrow at Vasquez, who shrugs because he honestly doesn’t know if he’s alright or not. “We’re as good as can be, I guess,” Faraday decides on.

“Rask?” Billy asks, raising a single dark brow in question.

“Vas got him.” Faraday says, gesturing back towards the body, just barely visible in the dim light of the lamps lining the path. “You can go see for yourself if you like.”

“No time,” Billy tells him. “You two have to follow me.”

“Not yet,” Faraday disagrees. “Look at him, would you? He’s in no state to be goin’ anywhere.”

“Sorry,” Billy says, honestly sounding it. “Sam’s got the girls with the rest of the group and he sent me back to find you two. We need to get moving.”

“He needs a minute,” Faraday growls his voice a low rumble in Vasquez’s ear.

“He doesn’t have one,” Billy says bluntly. “Those of Rask’s men who’re still left have almost got the stables under control. We need to get out of here before that happens.”

Faraday starts to snarl something further, but Vasquez raises a hand to cut him off. “He’s right, guero,” he says firmly, putting as much assurance behind the words as he can as he forcibly gets a grip on himself. “We should go.”

The look on Faraday’s face makes it clear he wants to protest, but Vasquez meets his gaze levelly until he folds with a sigh. “If you’re sure,” he decides. “I guess we’d best get a move on.”

“You guess correctly,” Billy says. He motions for them to follow him. “Come on. Sam and the others are getting everyone ready to move. We don’t want to have to catch up.”

Faraday stands first, and then reaches out a hand to help Vasquez to his feet. “You heard the man, Vas. I don’t know about you, but I don’t much like the idea of gettin’ separated from the rest of the crew after a night like this.”

Allowing himself to be pulled back to his feet, Vasquez tamps down on the emotions roiling around in his gut and straightens as best he can. “Sí, me either, let’s go.”

*****

The moment they arrive at the spot where the group of escapees are located, Sam comes looming out of the darkness. “What happened with Rask?” He demands, and Faraday groans.

“I’ll handle this,” he says, giving Vasquez what feels like a hundredth pat on the back. “There’s a slim chance he’s goin’ to get all snappy about shootin’ Rask once he was already beat, and it may as well be me who takes that grief if he does. You keep movin’. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can.”

Nadia wanders over to him as they make their way beyond the edges of Rask’s compound. She’s left Molly somewhere, probably with Timothy if he’s any judge, and falls easily into step beside him. They walk several meters in silence, until she can’t contain herself any longer. “So,” she says quietly. “I heard Rask’s dead. Are you alright?”

Vasquez shrugs his shoulders, the motion lacklustre enough that it no doubt makes it obvious how little energy he’s in possession of right now. “I think I’m too tired to know how I feel.”

“Adrenaline’s gone is it?” She asks softly. “I know the feeling well. You’ll be alright.”

“We all will be,” Vasquez assures her. They go back to trudging in silence for a little while longer, but eventually this starts to grate on his nerves. “What will you do now?”

She makes a face that he can just barely make out with the available light. “I don’t know. Unlike you, I don’t have a crew of wild men willing to take on an entire army to rescue me from a prison camp. I have to be smart about what I do next.”

“You should find somewhere new to settle down. Take the others with you. Get a fresh start.” He flicks a hand out towards the horizon where the sun is just beginning to rise. “There’s nothing stopping you now.”

“No, there isn’t,” she agrees, “and that’s maybe what I’ll do. What about you? I notice you didn’t include yourself among the people I should bring with me.”

He shrugs. As fond of Nadia as he is, he has no desire to join her in this and every desire to see what other options might be available to him. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,” he says honestly.

“But you know what you want,” she says knowingly. She gives him a small smile and glances back among the people following them. “I reckon I’ve figured out just who it was you were hoping to see again.” She snickers. “He’s watching you, you know. I don’t think he’s taken his eyes off you since the house.”

“Who?” He asks, and hisses when she pinches him. “I have enough bruises, amiga.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing one of ‘em’s right on your head. Otherwise why else would you ask something so stupid? Who do you think I mean, jackass?” She nods back towards the rest of the escapees who’re making their way along with their rescuers, and Vasquez doesn’t have to follow her gaze to know Faraday’s now behind him. “Big, well-built and Irish, that’s who. Methinks the boy hasn’t handled your captivity all that well.”

“We’re friends,” Vasquez says simply, ignoring any potential evidence to the contrary. “I wouldn’t take it well if it had been any of the others in my place.”

Nadia gives him a pitying look. “Friends don’t look at each other the way he looked at you back in the house – like his entire world had been off kilter and all of a sudden snapped back into place the moment he saw you.”

“You’re wrong,” Vasquez replies, even as a traitorous curl of hope starts flickering somewhere deep down inside of him. He knows what it must have looked like when Faraday had found them, knows what it felt like too, but he’s not going there, not now at any rate, maybe not ever. He’s already been turned down once, and that’s fine, that was Faraday’s choice, one he had every right to make if he wasn’t interested. “He’s – he doesn’t feel the way you think he does. I already tried before.”

“Me, I’d try again if I was you,” she says, shrugging when he raises an eyebrow at her. “All I’m saying is he don’t look like a man who’s not interested. Hell, he _looks_ like a man who’s head over heels in love and got everything he ever wanted the moment he laid eyes on you again.”

“You’re crazy,” Vasquez snaps, “absolutely loco.”

“Well that’s rude,” a voice drawls in the background, and Vasquez turns to find that Faraday has ambled within hearing distance without his noticing. “Though I suppose it’s nice to know it’s not just me you’re always callin’ crazy.”

Hoping against hope that Faraday hadn’t overheard anymore of his and Nadia’s conversation, Vasquez bares his teeth at the man. “No one is loco as you, guero. You proved that again today with this stunt.”

Faraday shrugs, not appearing bothered at all. “I was provoked,” he says simply. “Anyone who thinks they can steal anything that’s important to me has got another thing comin’. Remind me to tell you what I did to a pair of idiot brothers who stole my guns in Amador City sometime.”

“I’ve heard the story, guero.” Vasquez replies. He remembers Faraday telling it to him one night while they’d been camping out under the night sky, Faraday poking half-heartedly at the fire they’d used to cook supper as he’d gone through the tale with his usual flourish. One brother dead and another mildly maimed, and then Faraday had been roped into the crusade for Rose Creek not ten minutes later. “Your memory must be going if you’ve forgotten telling me.”

Faraday shrugs again. “Might be there’s some truth to that. This last little while’s been a right blur, I can tell you that much.”

Nadia’s eyebrows are climbing up her hairline, and Vasquez just knows it’s taking everything she has not to mouth the words ‘I told you so’ at him where Faraday can see. He glares at her, and she gives him a sunny smile in response. Then, even worse, she focuses her attention on the man now walking along between them.

“So, Mr. Faraday,” she says brightly, “you want to tell us how you came to know where to find us, and that we were in need of rescuing?”

A shadow passes over Faraday’s face, and he chews at the corner of his lip for several moments before answering. “Wasn’t that complicated in the end,” he says finally, but Vasquez notes he won’t meet him in the eye all of a sudden. “I was lookin’ for this one here and come tell of it I heard he’d been picked up by bounty hunters. I followed the trail to see what could be done, and one thing lead to another until me and the other boys found out what Rask was up to.”

Nadia stares at him incredulously, and even Vasquez has to admit he thinks Faraday’s being a little light on the details. “How in the hell did you get from point a to point b there?” Nadia demands. “That’s a hell of a jump to make.”

“Not really,” Faraday disagrees. His face develops something of a hunted expression, and he rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck with one hand. “I got to the town where Rask picked Vas here up too late to do anything, and they told me he’d already been – been hung.” He shudders briefly, but then keeps going. “I tried to get his body back from the local sheriff, which obviously was impossible. When that didn’t work _Sam_ tried to do the same thing, and got suspicious when the fuckin’ sheriff wound up gettin’ all squirrely. After that we did some diggin’, found someone who gave us the barebones of what was goin’ on, and came out here to see it for ourselves.” He clicks his tongue as he completes his story. “Like I said, not all that complicated.”

It wasn’t, Vasquez acknowledges. From what Faraday’s saying, he and the others had started with the basic facts and then followed them to their logical conclusion. However, that’s not what he can’t wrap his head around. “Guero, what in the world did you want my body for?”

Faraday’s mouth goes pinched, his jaw clenching as he looks at the ground, seemingly fascinated by his dust-caked boots all of a sudden. “Didn’t much like the idea of you spendin’ eternity in the company of strangers,” he tells the dirt, lashing out with one foot to kick at a nearby protruding tuft of grass. “Figured I’d lay you to rest somewhere I thought you’d like.”

“I -” Vasquez stares at this man who’s done so much for him, wishing both that Faraday would look at him and that they weren’t surrounded by a few dozen people. Not knowing what else to do, he matches his pace to Faraday’s and bumps their shoulders together until the other man glances over at him. “Thank you, guerito,” he says warmly. “For everything.”

Faraday gazes back at him, his expression all but impossible to read, and then his mouth curves up in a grin that fails to reach his eyes. Unexpectedly, he slings an arm across Vasquez’s shoulders and doesn’t let go. “It wasn’t nothin’ to thank me for, Vas. You’d’ve done the same if it were me.”

Of course he would have, Vasquez thinks as they keep trudging forward. That didn’t make it any less important.

Nadia tries to catch his eye as she shifts around and falls into step on his other side. Knowing what kind of expression he can expect to find on her face, he very pointedly doesn’t check, and instead concentrates on the feeling of Faraday’s arm still securely curled around him. If he leans a little more heavily into the touch than he needs to, well, who says anyone gets to comment on that?

*****

The townspeople don’t really know what to make of them when they make their way into the city proper. Like they had in Rose Creek, they’ve basically done away with the entirety of the place’s law enforcement on account of how all the bastards had fallen in league with Rask when he’d set up shop over by the mine. In fact, the more Faraday thinks about it, minus the way nobody innocent had been killed or maimed, the whole situation was remarkably similar to Rose Creek.

Except, of course, for how this had been more of a rescue mission than anything else. The folks of Harris City hadn’t cared much what Rask did with his mine, so long as he left them alone. Nobody had tried to force them off their lands, and therefore they hadn’t deemed this to be their fight. Yet, now the result of the right has been brought to their doorstep, where nobody seems to know what to do with the newly freed prisoners.

Finally Sam makes an executive decision and gets everyone headed to the boarding house. It’ll be a tight squeeze, a few folks will likely wind up bedded down in the homes of the more affable locals, but the place’ll produce enough food to get something in everyone’s stomachs and there’s a lot to be said for that.

There’s also much to be said for the fact that the town has its own doctor, he’s a fresh faced slip of a thing who barely looks old enough to be out from behind his mama’s skirts, mind you, but a doctor nonetheless. From what Faraday hears, he’d voluntarily decided to settle in this godforsaken spit of land because he felt his services would be more critical in a place so far off the beaten path. Faraday’s of the opinion that the boy is out of his mind, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth either.

“You should let him take a look at you,” he tells Vasquez as the man all but collapses into a chair located on the first floor of the boarding house. Around them the rest of the escapees from Rask’s compound are taking up similar positions, clustered together around a number of tables as the doctor starts flitting back and forth between the more worse off folks. “That cut above your eye might need stitches, and you don’t want it gettin’ infected.”

Vasquez waves a hand airily, only to let it drop down into his lap after only a brief moment. Faraday can’t be certain, but he thinks exhaustion brought on by the fight and the walk back to town, not to mention the weeks of forced labour without proper rations, has finally caught up with him. “You alright there, Vas?” He asks worriedly.

“Sí, guero, just tired.” Vasquez murmurs, further punctuating this statement with a yawn that damn near cracks in his jaw in half. “Hmm. What were you saying?”

“I said you need to get that cut on your forehead checked out,” Faraday repeats, “not to mention any other messes you might be hidin’ under your clothes.”

“Eh, it is fine.” Vasquez yawns again and slumps down in his seat. “There are many worse off than me.”

Faraday doesn’t care if every last person to come out of the compound is worse off, but he knows better than to say as much. Vasquez will wait his fair turn to have the doctor look at him, and if they try and give him special treatment he’s liable to cause a ruckus. Biting back a sigh, he drops down into the seat next to the one Vasquez has commandeered, and snaps his fingers in the man’s face to get his attention.

“Will you at least let somebody clean it out for you?” He asks when Vasquez slowly focuses in on him. “You’re goin’ to be forever waitin’ to see the doc, and the longer you leave that mess the way it is, the more you’re riskin’ an infection.”

Vasquez makes a face as him, and then prods at the cut with a tentative finger, hissing when the digit comes away flaked with dried blood. “I don’t even remember getting it,” he admits, frowning at the red-brown flecks now adorning his hand. “Must have been when we were fighting our way back into the house.”

Goodnight appears suddenly at Faraday’s other side. “Sounds like the poor fellow’s somewhat off his game now that he’s coming down from the high of the battle. However, you’ve got a good point where that gash is concerned, Faraday. I can’t say I much like the look of it. How about I go dig up some of the medical supplies the young doctor has dragged over here with him, and we’ll see if we can’t set about getting a head start on managing it?”

“And while he’s doing that, I’ll see about scrounging us up some food.” Billy adds from behind Goodnight. Faraday hadn’t heard him approach, but then again he rarely ever does. “Sam and Horne are trying to help organize this mess, while Red’s keeping an eye out on the roof in case we missed anyone back at Rask’s and they come here to make trouble, but I see no reason why the rest of us can’t eat.”

“Food sounds good,” Vasquez says perking up a little. “I have missed food.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Vas, we’re goin’ to feed you,” Faraday assures him, patting his arm, “and Goody that’s not a bad idea about the doctor’s stuff. Let’s do it.”

Goodnight and Billy disperse through the crowd after he says this, leaving him alone with Vasquez, for a given value of alone that is thanks to all the people milling about, for the first time in months. Feeling suddenly at a loss for words, Faraday wracks his brain for something to say. “How’re you holdin’ up, big guy?” He asks finally, wishing he’d been able to come up with anything better.

Vasquez wrinkles his nose like he’s not sure how to answer that question. “No lo sé,” he settles on, and Faraday doesn’t bother trying to hide a smile.

“I still don’t understand that funny Mexican tongue of yours, muchacho, you want to try that one again?”

“I don’t know – how I’m feeling, I mean,” Vasquez clarifies. “I don’t know.”

Contrary to popular belief, Faraday is self-aware enough to know he shouldn’t be pawing all over Vasquez without at least asking his permission. Unfortunately, his concept of personal space seems to have taken off for greener pastures today because now he’s reaching out and stroking a hand through Vasquez’s hair, his thumb almost touching the still-open cut. “You’ve been through a lot,” he says softly, “s’okay if you don’t know if you’re comin’ or goin’ right now.”

Rather than pulling away like Faraday’s half expecting him to, Vasquez leans into the touch. “I am so tired,” he says, his eyes fluttering closed, and Faraday feels something clench in his gut.

“I know, Vas,” he says gently, “but you only need to stay up for a little longer, alright? We’re gonna get some food into you and patch you up a bit, and after that you can put your head down for as long as you like.”

Vasquez looks at him, his dark eyes now half open. “I’m going to hold you to that, guero. I want to sleep for a week.”

“Deal.” Faraday promises. “Whatever you want, you’re goin’ to get.”

“Ya lo veremos,” Vasquez mutters.

“Annnd you’re back to Mexican again.” Faraday laughs and ruffles Vasquez’s hair.

“Es español, mijo,” Vasquez says darkly as he bats at Faraday’s hand. “Why do you always do this when you know I hate it?”

Given that he’d thought he’d never get to hear the other man snap at him again, Faraday can only feel helplessly fond as Vasquez shoves at him until he leaves his hair alone. “I gotta be me,” he says brightly, and laughs when Vasquez scowls at him. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop. Now where in hell’s name has Robicheaux got to? I can understand Billy takin’ forever with this crowd, but Goody’s got no excuse.”

As if he’s been summoned by the sound of his name Goodnight reappears with a bowl of water in one hand and some clean rags in the other. “Sorry, I took so long,” he says once he’s within earshot. “I had to do a little sweet talking to convince the good doctor to part with his materials without his having seen the patient in question.”

“The good doctor can get stuffed for all I care,” Faraday growls, bristling at the thought of anyone standing in the way of Vasquez getting the attention he needs. “And you can tell him I said so.”

“I essentially did,” Goodnight replies. “Albeit on my own behalf. Now here, this should be enough to deal with that slice he’s got there.”

“You should have brought a mirror, Goodnight, or something similar.” Vasquez tells him. “I can’t see what I’m doing like this.”

Goodnight gives him a very long look, unusually quiet the entire time. Then he snorts. “I must say it’s charming how you think we’re about to leave you to patch yourself up alone.” Placing the bowl of water on the table where it’s within easy reach, he dunks one of the rags in it and then wrings it out until it’s dampened to his satisfaction, after which he lays one hand on Vasquez’s shoulder to support himself and nudges the cloth towards the open cut. “Try and hold still, this is probably going to sting.”

“¿Probablemente?” Vasquez hisses and moves to pull away after the initial swipe of the cloth over his forehead. “That hurts.”

Goodnight clicks his tongue and looks contrite. “I’m sorry about that, but Faraday’s right, you’re looking at an infection if you leave this to sit too long. No,” he adds with a huff, “that wasn’t a hint to look at Faraday. If you pout at him with those big brown eyes, he’s liable to give in and have me stop. Quit moving and let me get it.”

“Guero,” Vasquez whines, zeroing in on Faraday right on cue and in direct violation of Goodnight’s orders. He tries to squirm away from the older man’s clutches, flinching when Goodnight moves the hand on his shoulder up to his jaw to better hold him in place. “I can do this myself, cabrón.”

“I recognize that,” Goodnight informs him. “However, I have spent far too much time as of late watching you suffer without being able to do anything about it. Kindly do me the honour of letting me reverse that trend, if only for a little while.”

Vasquez stills at this request, his entire body seeming to fold in on itself as he catches Goodnight’s eye. Clearly seeing something there that Faraday can’t, he settles down with a quiet huff. “Fine. Although I am only agreeing to this because I am too tired to argue with you.”

“That is perfectly acceptable, my friend.” Goodnight says, voice dripping with assurance as he dabs at the wound again.

While the two of them are engaged in this task, Faraday looks around for Billy, finally spotting him as he makes his way through the crowd, his arms laden down with various plates of food. Faraday watches as the man easily navigates around the people milling about, allowing himself a small grin. “Looks like Billy’s comin’ with your breakfast, Vas, not to mention enough for the rest of us.”

Looking up at the indication of food, Vasquez pulls out of Goodnight’s grasp, half-heartedly swatting at the man until he backs off with the blood streaked cloth still held in one hand. “Enough, amigo. Enough. The cut is clean, I know I’m not bleeding anymore, and I want something that didn’t come out of Rask’s slop bucket in my stomach. That hijo de puta gave us things I wouldn’t feed to a pig.”

Not for the first time today, Faraday feels a white hot bolt of rage lance through him at the thought of what Vasquez had faced at William Rask’s hands. Telling himself that, while the bastard may have died too quickly for his tastes, he’d at least gotten what he deserved in the end, he watches Billy’s approach with half his attention still focused on the man sitting next to him. “Just remember to take it slow,” he says while Vasquez’s eyes track the oncoming meal. “Too much too fast and you’ll make yourself sick.”

Vasquez tears his eyes away from where Billy’s continuing to make his way over to their table, just long enough to roll them in Faraday’s direction. “I know that, guero. I’m not a child.”

Rather than getting offended by having Vasquez snap at him, Faraday merely pats his arm again. “I know, Vas, I didn’t mean anythin’ by it.”

Any retort Vasquez might be about to make gets stymied in the face of Billy finally arriving at the table and dropping a heaping plate of food down in front of him. “You get to go first,” Billy says, and then he hands a second, slightly less laden plate over to Goodnight before setting the last two down in front of himself and Faraday. “Eat. Now.”

Vasquez does not have to be told twice, and he digs into the food with the fervor of a man who hasn’t seen a decent meal in a decade, wolfing pieces down with barely a second between bites. “Now you are just blatantly ignorin’ what I told you not two minutes ago,” Faraday tells him, giving serious consideration to pulling the plate out of reach in an effort to make him slow down. “If you throw up, you’re goin’ to have no one to blame but yourself.”

Proving that no amount of time in captivity can do away with his terrible sense of humour, Vasquez chooses to respond to this admonishment by sticking his chewed food laden tongue out at Faraday. “Oh for fucksakes, you animal,” Faraday grumbles when he sees this. “Put that away.”

“Children.” Goodnight says mildly from where he’s starting in on his own meal. “Do Billy and I need to separate you?”

Billy mutters something that sounds decidedly like, “You couldn’t pay me to try to do that,” and studiously focuses on the meal in front of him.

Despite the hour and the fact that he hadn’t had much to eat before their attack on the compound, Faraday finds himself too wound up to be able to eat more than half of the food on his plate. He winds up watching Vasquez instead, and pushes his plate over to him when the other man finishes off his own meal and looks around in an obvious desire for more.

“Go for it,” he says when Vasquez flicks his eyes up in surprise. “I’m not that hungry. Just try and slow down a bit, yeah?”

To his credit, this time when he starts in on the food Vasquez does take it a little slower. Not much, mind you, but a little. He polishes it off just as securely as he’d done with his first meal, however, although he doesn’t go pressing for more a third time around.

“Feel better?” Faraday asks when it becomes obvious he’s not considering swiping anything from the remains of Goodnight or Billy’s plates.

Vasquez nods and lets out a yawn that’s even heavier than the ones he’d been uttering prior to Billy’s return, making Faraday straighten up out of the slouch he’s fallen into at the sight. “And on that note, I think it’s time for you to find a bed. Come on, I’ll take you to make sure you don’t get lost or somethin' before you get there.”

For a second he thinks Vasquez might protest this treatment. He doesn’t, however, choosing instead to simply nod his head in acquiesce after a moment’s consideration. “Sleep sounds nice.” He admits, and Faraday stands to help him up.

“Here,” he says, extending his hand, “let’s get you movin’.”

Vasquez eyes him warily for a moment. Then he takes the proffered hand and allows Faraday to haul him to his feet, though he pulls back as soon as he’s steady. “Bedroom’s upstairs?”

“Yeah,” Faraday replies. “Sam said earlier to just take whatever one you want. We’ll probably wind up with some folks doublin’ up by the time everythin’s settled, but if you go up now you might be able to stake a claim to stay by yourself.”

Vasquez nods and offers Billy and Goodnight a quick goodbye. Billy nods and murmurs a quiet, “Sleep well,” while Goodnight pats him on the back as he motions for them to get moving.

“Go on you two,” he says softly. “Ain’t no need of you boys kicking around down here at the moment. Someone’ll come get you if you’re needed.”

Faraday waves a hand in acknowledgement, afterwards turning to follow Vasquez’s who’s already wandering off in the direction of the stairs. Since, the idea of the other man winding up out of his sight doesn’t even remotely sit well with Faraday, he hurries to catch up. “What’s the rush?” He asks as he falls into step beside Vasquez. “The beds aren’t going anywhere.”

“It’s not that.” Vasquez says, adding when Faraday raises an eyebrow at him, “I think if I stop moving before I get where I need to I will fall over.”

“If you fall over, I’ll catch you.” Faraday promises.

Vasquez makes a face at him as he starts to climb the steps to the second floor. “That’s very kind of you, guero, but I don’t much like the idea of having to be carried to bed, thank you.”

Faraday shrugs, but pointedly keeps his mouth shut lest any offer to do just that slip out without his permission.

His exhaustion becoming more obvious with each step he takes, Vasquez basically lurches up the stairs and heads for the first open door he sees. He takes a moment to ascertain that nobody has laid claim to it, or at least that’s what Faraday’s assuming he’s doing when he shoves his head inside and sweeps his gaze over the entirety of the room, and then makes a beeline for the bed, tugging his shirt off as he goes.

Or trying to anyway, his hands don’t appear to be working quite right at this point, resulting in his sitting down on the bed with a heavy thump as he’s still fighting to free himself from the stained and dirty fabric.

“Alright, alright,” Faraday says, following him in with a roll of his eyes. “Hang on, Vas. You’re just makin’ a mess of this. Let me get it.”

Vasquez grunts as Faraday gets his hands around the hem of his shirt and tugs it upwards but otherwise doesn’t protest. Shaking his head when he’s mostly free of it, he flicks his arms to get it the rest of the way off and makes no move to pick it up after it hits the floor.

Faraday hisses when he gets a look at Vasquez’s torso after the shirt is gone. “Bastards,” he growls, having to fight the urge to run his fingers over a particularly nasty set of bruises along the man’s ribs. He recognizes the marks of a man who’d gotten kicked by booted feet while trying to protect himself. “We killed ‘em all too quick.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Vasquez frowns and looks down at himself. “I need a bath.”

“You do,” Faraday agrees, noting how only some of the marks covering the man’s body are injuries, plenty of the stuff is just dirt. “On the other hand, I’m not convinced you won’t fall asleep and drown if we put you in a tub like this. Why don’t you sleep for a bit, and we’ll see about the rest later?”

Vasquez cocks his head to the side, his eyes going unfocused like he can’t quite parse out what Faraday is saying to him. It makes Faraday have to bite back a smile. “Let me put it this way,” he tries again, “sleep first, bath second. Okay?”

“Okay,” Vasquez agrees.

“Good.” Faraday tells him. Dropping down to his knees, he motions to the man’s feet and the boots he’s still wearing. “How about I take care of these while I’m here? You don’t want to be sleepin’ with ‘em on.”

“No.” Vasquez says tiredly, and that’s it, that’s apparently all he’s got the energy left for. He says nothing further as Faraday tugs first one boot off and then the other, and his gazes goes even more out of focus as he starts listing a little to the side.

Seeing this, Faraday stands again, this time to tug at the blankets on the bed. “Come on, you,” he says, pulling the bedding free from underneath where Vasquez is sitting. He motions for him to lie down. “Time for you to get all that sleep you were talkin’ about a bit ago.”

Vasquez mumbles something that Faraday’s not certain is in either English _or_ Spanish, and then flops down on the mattress with nothing even close to his usual grace. He wriggles around half-heartedly until his head is mostly on the pillow where it’s supposed to be, grumbling to himself all the while.

Faraday watches him for a moment to see if he’s going to move any more. When it becomes obvious he’s not, he sets about reorganizing the blankets, not stopping until they’re securely wrapped about Vasquez’s shoulders where they’re supposed to be. “How’s that feel?” He asks once he’s done, pulling back to admire his handiwork.

His only answer is a light snore. Vasquez’s eyes have already fallen shut, and as Faraday watches his breathing evens out to make it obvious he’s already dead to the world. “Oh.”

Leaning forward, Faraday reaches out a tentative hand to brush Vasquez’s hair back out of his face, mindful of the cut on his forehead and briefly resting the hand on his cheek as he watches him. “Sleep well, sweetheart.” He says, stroking Vasquez’s cheek with his thumb. “I’d say you more than earned it.”

Straightening, he turns to leave the room, only belatedly remembering as he hits the threshold of the doorway just how poorly the idea of not being able to see Vasquez sits with him right now. Swearing under his breath, he turns to look back at the man out cold on the bed and props his shoulder up on the doorframe, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to do now.

“How is he?” A quiet voice asks, and it takes every ounce of willpower Faraday has not to let out a shriek that could wake the dead.

Turning, he glares over at Red. “Warn a man, would you? A fella could have a heart attack thanks to the way you come sneakin’ up out of nowhere all the time.”

Red gives him a flat stare, apparently unmoved by Faraday’s plight. “I asked how he is.”

“What? Oh.” Faraday cranes his neck to look at Vasquez, pleased to see Red’s arrival hasn’t done anything to wake him. “He’s out like a light. Barely made it to the bed once we got some food into him.”

Red nods. “A lot of the others are the same. Sam is finding spots for them now.”

"That's good," Faraday mumbles, the bulk of his attention still focused on Vasquez's sleeping form. "Do you think we should dig him up some more blankets? What if he gets cold?"

Red's ensuing silence is pointed enough that Faraday drags his attention away from Vasquez and turns to look at him. "What?" He asks defensively. He doesn't like the way Red is looking at him all knowingly, as if he can see right into the depths of Faraday's soul and isn't remotely surprised by what he's found there. "The man needs takin' care of."

"And he's getting it," Red points out. Faraday hates him for always being so damned logical. "You said he's eaten and has been patched up, and now he's been put to bed. There's not much more you can do for him."

Faraday shrugs and feels the familiar sting of guilt start racing through him. "It's not enough. He needs people to watch over him and make sure he's alright."

Red opens his mouth to reply, but pauses before he does so. His jaw works a couple of times, as if he's considering and discarding several possible responses. Eventually he sighs, long and deep, in a way Faraday's not positive he's ever seen him do. "Vasquez isn't the only one who needs to be cared for. When was the last time you slept?"

Bristling at the notion that he himself could possibly be deserving of attention the way Vasquez is, Faraday scowls at him. "I slept before we hit the compound the same as everybody else. I'm fine."

"No." Red disagrees bluntly. "You're dead on your feet. You need to rest as much as he does."

"Bullshit," Faraday snaps. "If I sleep I can't watch him, and I need - I need to know he's safe."

He hadn't meant to admit that, not any of it, but one of the best things about Red is how he's not a man who will judge somebody for admitting to fear. Oh he'll judge him for just about anything else, up to and including pastimes, levels of inebriation, and food choices, but not for this. This he'll accept as valid and move on.

"Vasquez is safe, Faraday." Red says firmly. He shuffles forward a little bit closer to the doorway and gazes inside the room. "We destroyed Rask and his compound. There's nothing left here that can hurt him."

Hoping his expression is enough to indicate how vehemently he disagrees, Faraday sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, repeating the process several times until he feels like he can talk again. "He still needs watchin'. I'm not - there's no way I can put my head down with the thought that he's in here by himself. I won't sleep a wink."

"Then I'll watch him." Red says, effectively cutting Faraday off mid-rant. "There's been no sign of anyone following us since we left the compound, so I can stay with him."

"That's not -" Faraday starts to protest, and then trails off when Red arches a pointed eyebrow at him. He'd been about to say that wasn't good enough, something Red was no doubt fully aware of, but doing so would be unfair. Faraday trusts Red completely, more than enough to believe he'd keep Vasquez safe. His problem is just the nagging fear that if he takes his eyes of Vasquez for one moment, the man will vanish on him again. Or worse, that he'll wake up and find this has all been a dream and he's still living in a world where he'd gotten the most important person in his life killed.

He opens up his mouth to say all this, although how he's going to manage it he hasn't a clue, only to stop when he sees the look on Red's face. The younger man gazes back him, his expression as inscrutable as ever, but Faraday realizes abruptly that Red knows exactly what he's thinking, possibly even better than Faraday himself does. It's at the same time a blessing and a curse.

Deflating, he scrubs a hand over his eyes as he slowly starts to calm down enough to think straight. Red's right, he's asleep on his feet. The only thing that's kept him going this long has been his pressing need to ensure Vasquez is taken care of. That's been dealt with now, he can at least admit that much, which means it's time for him to relax as well.

"You'll stay with him the whole time he's out?" He asks, shoulders sagging as he tacitly gives his agreement to Red's plan. "You won't leave him alone?" Vasquez has been abandoned enough in recent days. Faraday's not letting it happen again. 

"I'll stay." Red agrees, the two words containing the kind of weight more akin to a sacred vow than a simple promise to look after a sick friend. "But you need to sleep. The next room is still empty. Take it before somebody else does."

Faraday nods, accepting this suggestion as it's made. At least if he's merely one room over, he'll be as close as feasibly possible without dragging a spare cot in here. He almost considers doing so when the thought occurs to him, but he realizes Vasquez might find that a little overbearing - or a lot overbearing - and decides against it. 

"You'll come get me if anythin' happens?" He says instead.

Red gives him a look which seems to say he's rolling his eyes without physically doing so. Then he sighs, his face softening into something that Faraday's hard pressed not to think of as fondness. "I will."

"And you'll wake me up when he does?"

"Faraday." Now Red just looks exasperated.

"Fine. I'm goin'. I'm goin', but I'm trustin' you here. You look after my boy." Faraday shakes an unnecessary admonishing finger at Red as he moves to leave, only to turn around when another thought occurs to him. "He said he wants a bath when he gets up. Will you help him with that?"

Red cocks his head to the side, one corner of his mouth turning up there merest fraction of an inch. "I'm surprised you'd consider letting someone else help him there most of all."

Faraday stares at him, his face heating more than it ever has in recent memory. He swears heavily. "You," he says, jabbing a finger in Red's face, "are exactly as much of a little shit as Jack likes to say you are."

"Yes." Red agrees, and then doesn't say anything else.

Faraday glares at him intently for a few moments just to let his ire be fully realized, and then he turns on one heel and marches into the room Red had suggested he claim as his own. Muttering about damn assholes who can't mind their own business and aren't as funny as they think they are, he shuts the door behind him and begins tugging at his own clothing.

He supposes he's not surprised someone knows the true nature of his feelings for Vasquez, he hasn't exactly been subtle as of late, what with the near breakdown over losing the man in the first place and then the inability to keep his hands off him after getting him back. All in all, he should probably consider it lucky no one's made a crack at his expense up until now. Not to mention the fact that Red had had the decency to do it while Vasquez was dead to the world.

No, the more he thinks about, the more he figures the others knowing is only going to be a problem if Vasquez is no longer interested. The reason being, he doesn't think he has it in him to back off and leave the man alone right now, and it is going to be damn awkward if Vasquez gets pissed off over all the attention.

"Can't think about that now," he mutters as he undoes the buttons of his shirt enough to get it off. "Sleep now. Throw yourself on your better half's mercy later. It's always good to have a plan."

The shirt snags on something as he's removing it, and Faraday is startled to realize he's still wearing Vasquez's medallion. In all of the commotion, he'd forgotten to give it back. Running his thumb over the image etched into the disk, he sinks onto the room's lone bed and lets out a shaky breath. 

He'll get it back to Vasquez the next time they're alone together. Until then he'll go right on keeping it safe as he has been.

*****

Vasquez wakes disoriented, and with his heart pounding as he has on more than one occasion since his recent difficulties have begun. Initially confused by the unusually soft bedding surrounding him and the unfamiliar walls, it takes him a good solid minute before he remembers what’s taken place. He’s no longer trapped in the compound. Instead, he’s safe and back with people he knows he can trust.

And speaking of such people, someone coughs from off to the side, and Vasquez is surprised to find Red sitting at a nearby table, eyeing him thoughtfully. “Bad dream?” The younger man asks when he’s sure he has Vasquez’s full attention.

“Quite often, amigo.” Vasquez admits, seeing no shame in doing so. He scrubs at his face with one hand, clearing the sleep out of his eyes. “I assume they’ll stop eventually now that the mess is over.”

“Probably.” Red agrees. “It’s good to see you by the way. I haven’t had a chance to say so yet.”

Vasquez grins at this. Coming from Red that’s an admission equivalent to Goodnight’s fussing or Sam and Faraday’s hugs. It’s nice to know he’s been so badly missed. “Likewise, my friend. Why are you here though?” He asks belatedly remembering that Red certainly hadn’t been around when he’d fallen into bed however many hours ago.

Red tilts his head to the side, his expression taking on a slightly nervous cast. “Certain parties didn’t like the idea of you being left alone,” he says finally, and Vasquez has a sneaking suspicion he thinks he’s saying too much. “I said I’d watch you while most of the others got some rest. Faraday’s asleep in the next room, but I don’t know where the other four ended up.”

The mention of Faraday reminds Vasquez of, well, everything that had happened between them prior to his encounter with Rask, but he quickly pushes those thoughts away yet again. Down that road lies madness, and he’s in no shape to go traversing it right now. He’ll talk to Faraday at some point, but not until later. Hopefully when they’re alone, and both of them more coherent than Vasquez had been earlier.

Determined to find something less dangerous to think about, Vasquez sits up in bed and begins taking stock of his surroundings. He vaguely remembers Faraday helping him get settled, which again, he shies away from that thought, and now realizes he has no idea how long ago that was. “How long was I asleep?”

“Hours.” Red says with a shrug. “It’s almost sundown. You needed it though,” he adds when Vasquez makes a disbelieving sound. “You’ve looked … better.”

Now Vasquez snorts. “I’m sure I have. I haven’t been in front of a mirror recently, but I don’t imagine I’m a very pretty sight.”

“Depends on who you ask,” Red grunts. Vasquez thinks he sees the edges of his mouth curl up in a smirk, and resolves not to ask him what he means by that. “You could use a bath though, Faraday mentioned you wanted one before I convinced him to go lay down.”

“Faraday wasn’t wrong,” Vasquez replies. “I don’t remember the last time I felt clean.”

“Hmm.” Red pushes his chair back away from the table and stands. “I’ll go talk to the boarding house owner. I’m sure we can get a bath brought up for you.”

Vasquez blinks, surprised by Red’s willingness to take that task on for him. “I can do it myself, amigo. Honest.”

“Not saying you can’t.” Red replies with a one shoulder shrug. “But I’m here, and I can help. Let me.”

Quickly losing count of the number of times his friends have decided they’re going to do menial tasks for him, Vasquez frowns. “How much longer is this pampering going to continue?”

Almost to the doorway, Red turns back around and pierces him with a heavy stare. “We’ve had you back for less than a day. I wouldn’t go putting a time limit on it yet if I were you. We were worried. All of us.”

Vasquez pauses then, unsure of how to respond. “Fine,” he says finally. “Thank you.”

Red nods and continues on his way, leaving Vasquez to sag back into his pillows with a tired huff. He stares up at the ceiling for a time, enjoying the way no one comes to try and force him out of bed and into some unpleasant form of work or other, not moving until he hears the telltale sounds of someone moving through the hallway while dragging something heavy.

Eventually Red reappears with a couple of helpers and the materials he’d gone in search of. They get everything arranged to their satisfaction, and before Vasquez knows it there’s a steaming hot bath laid out in front of him.

Vasquez eyes the whole thing, inordinately pleased at the sight. He glances up at Red, the only other person left in the room, and quirks an eyebrow in his direction. “I’m willing to say thank you for the assistance, but I draw the line at letting you stay in the room while I bathe. Go find someone else to fuss over.”

“Fine, I was supposed to wake Faraday when you got up anyway. Come find us when you’re done, we’ll be right next door.” Backing out of the room, Red gives him a slight wave, and then vanishes while closing the door behind him.

Nonplussed, Vasquez stares at the closed door for a few moments longer than necessary. Finally determining that there’s no value in this, he begins peeling off the remainder of his clothing. Folding the items up into a bundle, he tosses them all into a pile in the corner and stands to cross the room to where the tub is resting.

Slipping into the water, he hisses as his skin adjusts to the temperature, and then lies back with a sigh, resting his head against the lip of the tub. Enjoying the feeling of the hot water soothing aches in his muscles that he didn’t know he had, he raises one hand up and watches as droplets course down it, dripping back into the bath. “Huh.” He says, finding the action oddly mesmerizing. “Maybe I’m in a stranger mood than I thought.”

He’s not sure how long he stays in the tub, but the water has lost most of its warmth and taken on a grimy hue by the time he’s done. Deciding he can justify sitting here for no longer, even though he knows in the back of his mind that he has nothing else that needs doing, he stands up and reaches for the towel that had been brought into the room at the same time as the tub.

As he dries off, he comes to the unfortunate realization that the only clothes he has on him are the filthy ones he’d been wearing during the escape from Rask’s compound. He glances at where they’re resting in a heap on the far side of the room, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the thought of having to put them back on again. He’s free now, which should mean he has access to clean clothes somehow. It’s not like the others would take care of everything else he could ask for and make that oversight.

Remembering what Red had said about where to find him, he wraps the towel around his waist and goes in search of his friend. Faraday’s about his size, albeit a little bulkier. If nothing else, Vasquez can probably beg a borrowed set of clothing from him until he can find something more permanent to call his own. Though he’s got no intention of putting his old clothes back on, even ignoring the state they’re in, they can be burned for all the memories they represent.

The door to the next room is closed when he gets there, so Vasquez raises a hand and raps his knuckles lightly against it. He can hear the sound of muffled voices engaged in conversation, but these cut out as he keeps knocking and finally someone calls, “It’s open. Come on in.”

Feeling a little self-conscious, no one else is wandering around the hallway half-naked after all; he pushes the door open and pokes his head in. Spotting Faraday sitting on the edge of the bed with Red leaning against the wall not far from him, he clears his throat. “Er, I don’t suppose you have any spare clothes lying around, do you?”

Faraday gapes at him, not finding his voice until Red moves forward and kicks him lightly in the shin. He sputters. “Um, what? Sorry, what? I was – yeah. Not awake yet, I don’t think.”

While Red makes a snorting sound that he pretends not to hear, Vasquez sidles the rest of the way into the room. Doing his best to ignore the way he’s now dripping on the floor, he makes a face at Faraday. “Clothes, guero. The only ones I have are from the compound, and I don’t want to put them back on if I don’t have to. They’re filthy.”

“Oh,” Faraday exclaims, realization dawning. “Yeah, sorry. Of course you don’t want to put that crap back on. Give me a second, I’ll find you somethin’.”

Climbing off the bed he’s been reclining on, he gets up and shuffles over to where his saddles bags are resting at the foot of the room’s tiny wash basin to begin rifling through them. “Pretty sure anythin’ I have is gonna hang off you right now, but at least it’ll be clean. Well, cleaner than what you were wearin’ at least.”

He spends about a minute longer going through one of the packs, eventually coming up with a comfortable looking shirt and pants Vasquez knows right away are going to hang off his hips without help. “Please tell me you have a belt,” he says when he sees this.

Faraday huffs out a laugh, pulling one such item free as he does so. “Yeah, here. Wouldn’t want ‘em fallin’ off that skinny ass of yours while you were walkin’ down the stairs.”

Vasquez sniffs at him as he shuffles forward to snag the proffered clothes. “That is no way to talk to a man who’s spent as much time as I have as a madman’s prisoner, guero.”

He’d meant the words as a joke, but Faraday’s face instantly falls and he knows they were a mistake. “It’s alright, Faraday,” he says quickly, “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

There’s a quiet thumping sound from somewhere in Red’s direction, not unlike that of someone who’s just banged their head against the wall in exasperation, but Vasquez keeps his gaze locked on Faraday. It takes a moment, but slowly the man in question nods. “Right,” he says in a voice full of false brightness. “Of course you didn’t.”

Wishing he hadn’t said anything, Vasquez backs up with the bundle of clothes safely contained in his hands. “Sí. I’m just going to go get changed, and then – maybe food?”

His eyes still downcast although he’s doing his best not to show it, Faraday shrugs. “Sounds like a plan, it’s basically suppertime anyway.”

“Sí,” Vasquez says again. “That’s what I was thinking,” he adds, which is a bald-faced lie as he hadn’t been thinking anything of the sort. “I’ll be back soon.”

He gets out of the room and back to his own as quickly as he’s able considering he’s stuck wandering around in a towel. Once he’s safely behind a closed door, he lets the towel fall to the floor and sets about getting dressed. As expected, Faraday’s clothes don’t fit him properly – he has to notch the belt almost as far as it will go because the pants are particularly bad – but they’re clean and dry and, most importantly, weren’t given to him by a man intending to work him to death.

Properly dressed for the first time in a while, he pulls his own boots back on, there’s not much he can do about having to use those after all, and risks a quick glance in the room’s tiny mirror. It’s been a while since he’s seen his own reflection at more than a passing glass, and he can see why the others have expressed some concern. His cheeks are definitely sunken, reflecting the malnourishment he’s been facing for the past while, and the cut on his forehead _is_ nasty looking for all that it’s now clean.

Huffing out a deep breath, he pulls back from the mirror. “Enough of this,” he says aloud. “Time to go sit with your friends and get some supper in you.”

Wondering when he’d developed a habit of talking to himself, he doesn’t think he’s ever been prone to it in the past, he wanders back out of the room and over to Faraday’s a second time. Not bothering to knock this time around, he finds Faraday midsentence while Red is adamantly shaking his head and giving the other man a frustrated look.

“Oh, hey, Vas,” Faraday says, cutting off whatever he was about to say to Red and focusing his attention on the newcomer. “You all set?” At Vasquez’s nod he stands and motions for Red to join him. “Come on then, boys. Let’s go see what the kitchen’s dishing out tonight.”

*****

The main floor is considerably less crowded than it had been the last time Vasquez was downstairs. The young doctor from earlier is nowhere in sight, and nor are at least half the people he’d escaped the compound with. He spots Nadia holding court at a table near the back with a number of people, Molly among them, clustered around her. Waving a hand in greeting, he waits until she nods at him in acknowledgment before following Red and Faraday over to the table their friends have claimed.

Goodnight’s the first to spot them. “Well well well,” he says, looking up with a bright grin. “Sleeping Beauty awakens. Two of them in this case it seems.”

“Very funny,” Faraday grumbles as they approach. He waits for Vasquez to choose a seat, and then drops down beside him without a second thought. “You honestly expect me to believe you didn’t catch a few winks between now and this mornin’?”

Goodnight raises his hand in a little ‘touché’ gesture, turning the motion into something else as he grabs his drink with the same hand and knocks back a generous mouthful. Swallowing, he grins at Faraday again and thunks his mug down on the table. “As it happens, I think we all got a nap or two at some point, except for maybe poor Red who I’m given to understand you conned into babysitting duty.”

Vasquez makes an affronted noise from his position next to Faraday, and gives serious consideration to kicking Goodnight in the shin. “I don’t need to be watched like a child, cabrón.”

Faraday pats his shoulder gently while Goodnight makes an abashed face. “No one’s sayin’ you need watchin’, Vas. It’s more for our own peace of mind than anythin’ else.”

“Hmmph,” Vasquez replies, disgruntled. He thinks about shrugging Faraday off just to prove a point, but in the end decides against it because the physical contact he’s been subjected to since his release isn’t something he really has an issue with. “No one is watching me sleep tonight. That is all I will say on the matter.”

The hand on his shoulder tightens briefly, and Vasquez turns to raise a questioning eyebrow at Faraday. He gets a brittle smile in response, after which Faraday draws his hand back.

An awkward silence descends upon the table, one that’s only broken by Sam clearing his throat. All eyes turn to him, but his attention zeroes in on Vasquez. “Have you given any thought to what you want to do now?”

“You mean besides eat?” Vasquez asks, and a series of chuckles reverberate around the table.

“Looks like some things never change,” Horne says as the laughter dies down. “Good thing we asked one of the servers to bring some meals over when we saw you boys coming. She should be back soon with enough for everybody. Includin’ you,” he adds with a pointed glance in Red’s direction.

For his part Red sighs and slumps back in his seat with a forlorn expression on his face. “It wouldn’t be so bad if anyone in places like this new how to cook.”

“You just want somethin’ to complain about, don’t lie.” Snickering, Faraday reaches over to poke Red in the shoulder, giving him a grin when Red glares at him. “I’ve seen you eat far worse than anythin’ they’re likely to serve up in this place.”

“If that’s true it was because I didn’t have a choice, and stop that.” Returning the favour, Red jabs two of his fingers into Faraday’s side making him jump.

“Hey!” Faraday protests, smacking at him to push him back. “That was way harder than when I did it.”

Red mutters something that’s too low for Vasquez to hear, but Jack, who’s sitting on Red’s other side, rolls his eyes. “Enough, you two. Lord help us, but Sam was right when he said we were in trouble when you boys started bonding.”

“That wasn’t exactly how I put it,” Sam says diplomatically. He raises his hands when both Red and Faraday turn to stare at him. “Hell, I don’t have a problem with you boys gettin’ along. It makes my life a whole lot easier.”

Faraday sniffs audibly and sits back with his arms folded over his chest. “We’ll get your for that one, Sam Chisolm, just you wait and see. Right, Red?”

Red nods his head once and lets out an affirmative noise.

Sam throws his hands up in surrender, and the table once again erupts in laughter at the sight of their erstwhile leader so obviously giving in to the inevitable. Vasquez laughs along too, although not as heavily as some thanks to an oddly detached feeling that’s just rolled over him. Red and Faraday hadn’t had such a companionable relationship the last time they’d all been together. It seems he’s missed more than he’d realized during his captivity.

The food arrives while a few snickers are still circulating, and Vasquez tucks in happily when a plate is set in front of him.

“You never answered my question,” Sam says after he’s had several bites.

“Hmm?” Vasquez mumbles around the fork in his mouth. He pulls it free, chews quickly, and swallows. “Sorry, what was that?”

“What’re your plans now that you’re free?” Sam asks.

Vasquez shrugs. “I’ll be honest, amigo, I haven’t given it much thought beyond eating and sleeping.” He frowns suddenly as an idea occurs to him. “Actually, now that you mention it, I want to go after the sheriffs who’ve been handing people over to Rask. They need to be stopped just as much as he did.”

“Funny you should say that,” Sam says nodding at Jack, Goodnight and Billy in turn. “We were havin’ that very conversation before you three showed up. If you’re in a mind to do that, we’re comin’ with you.”

“But not right away,” Jack cuts in. He gives Vasquez an appraising look, and Vasquez gets the impression he doesn’t like what he sees. “You’re in no shape to go off looking for vengeance right now. Take it from someone who knows, you need to let your body heal first.”

“My body is fine,” Vasquez says dismissively. “I’m clean, I’m fed, and I’ve slept for most of the day. I’ll be good to go by first light.”

“The hell you will,” Goodnight says, and next to him Billy makes an exasperated noise. “You’re skin and bones right now. At least wait until you’re bruises have healed and you’ve gained a few pounds.”

“No,” Vasquez disagrees. Now that the idea of dealing with the other sheriffs has occurred to him, he knows it won’t go away until they’ve been handled. “That will take too long. Weeks if not more so. I can do this.”

“No one’s saying you can’t,” Billy points out. “We’re just saying you shouldn’t. Not yet, and you’re not the only one. We all need some time to recover from this little adventure. We should go somewhere safe while we do that.”

“You thinking of somewhere specific, cher?” Goodnight asks, and Billy nods.

“I am.” He glances around the table, letting his gaze flick steadily from person to person. “Why don’t we stop in at Rose Creek for a bit? No one’s going to give us any trouble there.”

“That’s true,” Faraday says, jumping on the suggestion immediately. He points a pleased finger at Billy all while Vasquez makes annoyed noises at the very notion of being coddled this way. “Those folks love us. I bet they’ll put us up for as long as we feel like.”

“No question.” Sam agrees. “Mrs. Cullen and the preacher both made a point of tellin’ me we were welcome to come back whenever we pleased when we rode out. I reckon they’d be damn happy to give us a place to lay low for a while.”

Vasquez snorts expansively. “And by us you mean me. I do not need this kind of protection, Chisolm. Nor do I want it.”

Sam cocks his head to the side and gives Vasquez a long look. “By us I meant all of us. You might take the longest to recuperate, but you’re not the only one who’ll need to.”

Vasquez has no idea what that means, none of the others had suffered any injuries during the fight that he’s aware of. He suspects Sam is inventing this claim to get him to play nice, and it’s not going to work. “I want to do this now. Before those men hand over anyone else like they did me. No one should have to go through that.”

“Hey, hey,” an unexpected hand settles on his back, the touch warm even through the fabric of his borrowed shirt as Faraday spans his fingers out between Vasquez’s shoulder blades. “Vas, it’s alright.”

“No, it isn’t, guero,” Vasquez snaps. He knows the others haven’t been through what he has, but even with that he can’t understand this sudden lack of urgency on their parts. “Rask had at least six sheriffs that I know of sending him people. They are all still out there.”

“And they have no one to hand prisoners over to.” Faraday stresses. He gives Vasquez a little admonishing shake with the hand he still has splayed over his back. “Vas, Rask is dead. You put a bullet between his eyes less than a day ago. Without him the sheriffs are nothin’. They’re a problem that will keep until we’re ready to go after ‘em.”

“And we will,” Sam adds firmly, drawing everyone’s attention to him. His face takes on a serious cast and his grip on his utensils visibly tightens. “I’m not goin’ to stand by and let a bunch of lawmen behave this way. We’ll talk to the rest of the escapees before they leave, find out where all of ‘em came from, and once we have that we’ll know where to strike.”

“Yes, but the longer we wait, the more chance there is they will hear about Rask’s fall and run to save their own skins,” Vasquez points out. Even though he can’t fault the logic behind what Sam and Faraday have just said, that important detail seems to have escaped the both of them.

“Won’t matter,” Sam replies, cutting off any further protests on Vasquez’s part. “We’re talkin’ about duly appointed sheriffs here, Vasquez. Even if they try to get out before we show up, we’ll be able to get their names, appearances, everythin’, and then we’ll go huntin’.”

“You should appreciate the irony, Vasquez.” Goodnight pipes up. “You being dead has gotten that warrant off your back, and now you’ll be able to take a stab at chasing down folks on the other side of the law. It’s almost poetic in a sense.”

Vasquez pauses at this, letting the thought turn over in his brain a few times as the others watch him. He takes a bite of his supper, chewing thoughtfully while Faraday, who still hasn’t dropped his hand, trails soothing fingers down his spine as they all wait to see what he’ll say. Swallowing, Vasquez grunts. “Fine, but only if you promise that we don’t stop until we get them all. No matter how far some of them might run.”

“Of course,” Sam agrees readily, and there’s a fire burning in his eyes that Vasquez recognizes from back before Bart Bogue had been dealt with. “There ain’t a man among us who’s goin’ to quit on this one.”

Heads nod around the table, and Vasquez feels something warm settle in his belly that has nothing to do with the food he’s still making his way through. These men might not be his family in the traditional sense, but they’re the closest thing he’s got at this point in his life and it’s clear they’re not going to consider this job to be done until everyone who’s played a part in it has been brought to justice. “Thank you,” he says then, not knowing how else to respond.

“You need to stop thankin’ us for this,” Faraday says seriously, immediately changing the tone of the conversation by shifting his hand from Vasquez’s back to his hair and mussing it into more of a disaster than it already is.

“Guero,” Vasquez barks, raising his hands to fend the idiot off. “If you do not stop it, I will stab you in the eye with this fork.”

Faraday leans backwards with a hooting laugh, completely unperturbed, and Vasquez moves to follow him, fully intent on getting revenge for this slight. What he’s not expecting, however, is for Goodnight to hook an arm over his shoulders and haul him back so that _he_ can knuckle his fist into Vasquez’s hair with a half-mad cackle that echoes in his ear.

Trying without success to get his elbow up so he can dig it into the older man’s stomach, Vasquez twists to get a better look at his best chance of salvation. “Rocks,” he whines to the man who’s spent this whole debacle just quietly eating his meal next to Goodnight, “make him stop.”

Billy snorts, barely bothering to look up from his plate. “You should know better than to leave yourself open to an attack like that. It’s not my fault if you don’t.”

Still squirming to get free of Goodnight’s hold, and who knew a man his age could be so tenacious, Vasquez glares over at Faraday. “I blame you for this,” he snipes, huffing out an annoyed breath while he attempts to kick the other man under the table.

Making no effort to dodge the kick, Faraday props one arm up on the edge of the table and rests his chin in the palm of his hand as he gives Vasquez a sunny smile. “Just let Goody show you how much he missed you, Vas. That’s all he’s doin’.”

“Best take your complaint to our fearless leader, mon ami,” Goodnight adds helpfully. “He’s the only one who can help you now.”

“I despair of you all,” Sam drawls when Vasquez turns pleading eyes on him. He sighs. “Let him up, Goody. We don’t want to be startin’ a brawl in the middle of this place.”

Finally released, Vasquez sits up and beings yanking his clothes back into some semblance of order. “I take back my thanks. I did not miss any of you.”

“Well we missed you,” Faraday says softly. When Vasquez looks over he sees that his smile has dimmed some and his eyes have once again taken on that pinched look from earlier. “It’s good to have you back.”

*****

For all that Faraday’s been acting off all evening, Vasquez can honestly say he’s not expecting the man to follow him upstairs when he announces he’s heading back to bed a few hours later. However, that’s exactly what he does, shoving his chair back from the table as soon as Vasquez bids the rest of their friends goodnight, and following without so much as a word to the others. Vasquez can hear him as he clomps up the stairs after him, not saying anything even though he’s right on his heels.

Faraday continues not to say anything when he follows Vasquez into his still empty bedroom, and Vasquez feels a sharp spark of annoyance ring through him at this behaviour. It’s not that he isn’t thrilled to see Faraday, regardless of what’s happened between them, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be unhappy to have the man around, and he certainly isn’t sorry to see him today, but he also desperately wants to sleep. The lone bed in the room, with its threadbare blankets and mattress that has clearly seen better days, remains the most inviting piece of furniture he’s seen in weeks if not months and he’s ready to lay back down on it.

“Guero,” he says finally when the unnerving silence has become too much, “I don’t mean to sound rude, but do you need something? I appreciate your company as much as always, however, I would very much like to rest.”

Jerking as if startled, Faraday’s eyes come up to meet Vasquez’s where before they were roaming all over the room. “Sorry,” he says then. It’s the first word Vasquez heard him say in a while, and it sends warning bells ringing in Vasquez’s mind. There’s something horribly off in the tone, something he might go so far as to describe as broken.

“Faraday.” He says, concerned. He takes a step forward, although to do what he doesn’t know, and the other man coughs.

“Sorry,” he says again, clearing his throat. “I’ll get out of your hair in a minute, I promise. It’s just – I remembered earlier that I have somethin’ of yours. Figured I should give it back to you.”

“Something of mine,” Vasquez echoes. He has no idea what that could possibly be. He’d taken all of his worldly possessions with him when he and Faraday had split up back in Huron Valley, and then he’d lost everything to the sheriff and his men. Faraday shouldn’t have anything of his.

“Yeah.” Faraday says, and as Vasquez watches he brings his hands up to tug something free from under the bandana he has tied around his neck. “Back when – back when I first came lookin’ for you that bastard Sheriff decided to prove you were dead by showin’ me all the stuff they’d taken off you when you got caught. I should’ve taken it all when he offered, especially you’re colts, sorry, but I told him I didn’t want any of it and then snatched this when he wasn’t watchin’. Damnit!”

The curse is spat out in obvious frustration as Faraday fights to free whatever it is he’s after. He struggles for a little longer, his usually clever fingers apparently made awkward in the face of Vasquez’s confused expression, until he eventually makes a triumphant noise and pulls the item free, the action drawing a gasp out of Vasquez when he realizes just what it is Faraday has for him.

“Don’t rightly know why I took it,” he admits as he holds out the medallion Vasquez has worn around his neck like a talisman since he was a boy, “but I reckon you’ll be wantin’ it back.”

“Faraday,” Vasquez breathes. He holds out his hand and lets Faraday drop the metal disk onto his palm, his fingers automatically curling around the necklace like they’ve been seeking it without his permission. “I – gracias. Thank you.”

Faraday shrugs awkwardly. “I remember you sayin’ once your Ma gave it to you. I don’t have anythin’ left of mine, but I know that if I did I’d feel awful if I lost it. So, like I said, figured I should give it back.”

“Thank you,” Vasquez says again. He slips the medallion around his neck and knots it securely in place, exhaling deeply at the familiar weight settles over the column of his throat. “I – thank you.” He wishes he could think of something else to say.

“Don’t.” Faraday says then, his voice tight. “Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anythin’ to deserve that.”

Vasquez frowns. That wrongness is back in Faraday’s tone and with it the alarms sounding in Vasquez’s head. He steps forward, and then stops at the look on Faraday’s face, something that’s one part shame and one part fear. “Joshua,” he says, and Faraday flinches like he’s been slapped at the use of his given name.

“I should let you get some rest,” he says, quickly covering it up. “Lord knows you still look like you need it. I’ll see you later, alright?”

“ _Joshua_ ,” Vasquez repeats, more sharply this time as his heart starts thudding in his chest. He hadn’t been planning to bring up Huron Valley quite so soon, but it seems he’s not going to be able to help himself. “Guero, if you have something to say to me then say it. You’ve already run from me once. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now.”

He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth, initially for how unfair they are and then even more so when he sees their effect. Faraday lets out a noise that’s horrifically close to a sob, his eyes snapping shut and his fists clenching as he hunches in on himself, not unlike a dog expecting to be hit and, even worse, thinking he deserves it.

“I’m sorry, Joshua,” he says immediately contrite. He reaches out a hand, although to do what he doesn’t know, only to let it drop back down against his side when he can’t think of how to act. “I shouldn’t have said that.” He says, settling for the simple admission in the end.

Faraday makes a distressed noise and shakes his head. His eyes snap open then – Vasquez doesn’t think he’s imagining that they look brighter than usual – and he gasps, taking a step forward unexpectedly. “Can I?” He asks raggedly.

Vasquez has no idea what he’s being asked, but he nods anyway. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with Faraday, only that he hates it and that’s enough for him to do whatever the other man wants on the off chance it’ll help. “Sí, whatever you need.”

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but Faraday crossing the remainder of the distance between them and enveloping him in a hug that’s even tighter than the ones back in Rask’s compound isn’t it. Strong arms wrap around him, clutching him in an embrace that all but grinds his bones together, and he feels it when Faraday shudders against him. “Joshua,” he says, genuinely alarmed now, “what’s wrong?”

A moment passes where Faraday buries his face in Vasquez’s shoulder, and then he’s pulling back, still shuddering as he moves his hands up to curve them around the back of Vasquez’s neck and tilt his head forward until their foreheads touch. “I’m so sorry,” he says now. “Fuck, Vas, I never meant to make you feel like you had to leave. I never wanted you to leave period, and I should have been there. You needed me to be watchin’ your back, and instead I let you down worse than I ever have anyone before.”

“Oh, Joshua,” Vasquez breathes. He understands what this is now, recognizes guilt in one of its many forms even if the sheer force of it is more than he might have expected. Bringing his own hands up, he curls his fingers over Faraday’s and strokes his thumbs along trembling flesh. “Guero, you have nothing to apologize for. None of what happened was your fault, it was just bad luck.”

“Luck,” Faraday echoes, and Vasquez is positive now that he’s verging on hysteria. “Vas the only lucky part of this whole mess is that you landed in the clutches of a sheriff who had an agenda of his own. If it’d’ve been anybody else you’d have gone to the noose before I got there, and there is no one on this earth who’ll ever convince me it wouldn’t’ve been entirely my fault.”

“But it wouldn’t have been,” Vasquez insists. “It’s not your job to mind me, Joshua. I’m not a child and I make my own decisions. I chose to take the coward’s way out rather than deal with – with what happened between us and – mmph!”

The kiss is … forceful to say the least, full of desperation and immeasurable other things that Vasquez doesn’t have the words to describe, not unlike the first one they’d shared in Huron Valley, when he’d gathered up what courage he could and wound up thoroughly rebuffed. All he can do is let it happen, and then gape at Faraday when it ends. Faraday who shifts back only far enough that he can look Vasquez in the eye as he says, “The only person who took the coward’s way out that night was me.”

“I don’t understand,” Vasquez says because he doesn’t. Although, he is slightly concerned it might be related to all the guilt Faraday appears to have bottled up. “Guero, if this is you thinking you owe me something as a result of this mess, I don’t want it. Not like that.”

“If you don’t want it that’s fine, I’ll understand, but this isn’t me takin’ pity on you or whatever else you’re thinkin’ right now,” Faraday assures him.

Vasquez tries to pull himself free of Faraday’s grasp to no avail. “I find that hard to believe,” he says when it becomes obvious Faraday’s not going to let him go until they’ve worked their way through whatever’s going on. “You made it very clear that night you were not interested in what I suggested. Why would you want it now?”

“Because I wanted it then,” Faraday replies, saying the words with such a sense of finality that Vasquez can’t help but believe him. He ducks his head, all of sudden unwilling to meet Vasquez’s gaze even though his grip remains as firm as ever. “I just … panicked, really. There’s no other word for it.”

Vasquez feels the same dangerous tendril of hope he’s been trying to quash since his rescue start stirring somewhere in his gut. Thinking it might be worth the risk, he hooks two fingers underneath Faraday’s chin and nudges the man’s head up to see him better. “Joshua,” he says when Faraday keeps his eyes closed. “Cariño, please look at me.”

Green eyes snap open, and Vasquez sucks in a breath at the sheer torrent of emotion he sees lurking within them. “I don’t understand. Why?”

Faraday’s expression turns rueful, almost ashamed. Vasquez suspects if he weren’t holding him, the other man would pull away and go back to staring at the floor. Not wanting that to happen, he shakes Faraday slightly. “Guero, please. Tell me?”

“It …” he starts, and then breaks off as a shudder runs through him. Once it passes, however, he takes a deep breath and, his voice sounding stronger, says, “I’m not used to gettin’ what I want. My whole life, anythin’ I’ve really cared about I’ve lost somehow. When you – when you did what you did all I could think was ‘well that’s great, now I’m gonna lose him too’. I was so out of sorts I had to get away for a while, and then by the time I came back …”

“I was already gone,” Vasquez finishes, and Faraday nods in agreement.

“Yeah,” he says raggedly. Now he does pull back, and he releases his hold on Vasquez as well, brining one hand up to scrub tiredly at his eyes. “When you didn’t come down for breakfast the next morning, I figured you needed some space. I was tryin’ to do the right thing for once and give it to you. It was only when you still hadn’t shown up by early evenin’ that I got nervous and went lookin’. By that time you were long out of town and all but impossible to follow.”

“You did though, follow, I mean.” Vasquez says. He fingers the necklace now sitting back in its proper place around his throat. “You wouldn’t have gotten this back if you hadn’t, or found me at all, I suspect.”

Faraday shrugs, and it’s only now that Vasquez realizes how exhausted he looks, like he hasn’t had a proper night’s sleep in months, this afternoon’s nap notwithstanding. “Like, I said, I heard about you bein’ grabbed by a warrant officer and headed for the nearest town with a sheriff’s office. It turned out to be the right one, only – only …”

“Oh, cariño,” Vasquez says. This time he’s the one who moves forward and drags the other man into an embrace. “I am fine, I promise, and even if I wasn’t that would not have been your fault. You must know that.”

“Fuck you,” Faraday says without any heat. He buries his face back in Vasquez’s shoulder and for once lets himself take the comfort he’s clearly desperately in need of. “I was a day late, Vas. A _day_. If I’d been only a little faster I could’ve broken you out and none of this would have happened.”

“Or they’d have killed us both when they realized I had someone who would miss me,” Vasquez suggests. “Or maybe they’d have sent us both to that compound and no one would have ever known to look for us.” He shifts so that he can cup Faraday’s face in his palms. “There are a million different ways things might have played out, querido. What matters is the way they actually did, and that we’re fine. We’re all fine.”

Faraday huffs out a miserable sounding noise. “I’d be lyin’ through my teeth if I said I was fine right now,” he admits, open and vulnerable in a way that Vasquez has never seen him. “Though I am damn glad to see you, make no mistake about that.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Vasquez assures him. “Though, I knew you would come for me, so long as you knew where to look.”

“Yeah?” Faraday asks. “Even though I made you think I didn’t want – you know?”

“Sí, even then.” He wonders if he should tell Faraday that he’d been about to turn back and come find him when he’d gotten grabbed and all this trouble had begun, that he’d realized his own mistake and planned to return to try and make it right. Maybe, he thinks finally, he’ll tell him someday, but not tonight. Tonight Faraday looks like he needs rest as much as Vasquez does.

“You should sleep,” he says instead, focusing on that. “You’re obviously exhausted.”

“If you want to see exhausted, you should go find a mirror,” Faraday tells him, “but you’re right. I should leave. I’ll let you rest, and we can talk more later. You probably need time to figure out if I’m worth wastin’ your energy on.”

Vasquez stares at him. Something flabbergasted and exasperated and so, so fond ratchets up out of nowhere and threatens to overwhelm his very being. “Joshua,” he says, fighting back a sudden urge to laugh harder than he has in days, “you are the stupidest man I have ever met, but god willing I am going to keep you.”

“Hmm?” Faraday asks, and Vasquez has no choice but to lean in and kiss him.

The second kiss is no longer than the first thanks to Vasquez not wanting to spook Faraday into bolting again. He doesn’t think that will happen this time, but the man is obviously precariously balanced at the moment and putting too much pressure on him seems like a bad idea. On the other hand, he feels the need to make one thing clear. “I want everything you’re ready to give me, cariño. No more, no less.”

Faraday’s quiet for a moment. “Can I stay here tonight? Not for – I mean, uh, not for anythin’ other than sleepin’, don’t imagine I’d be up for that even if you were, and I know you said earlier you don’t want anyone watchin’ over you. It’s just - I’d really like to know where you are for now. This past little while has, I don’t mean to make it sound like anyone had it worse than you did, but it’s been hard, Vas. Fuck, it’s been hard.”

Part of Vasquez is startled by the request, but that’s drowned out by the way his heart clenches painfully in his chest. He knows the others are concerned about him thanks to everything he’s been through, but it looks like they’re going to have to keep just as secure an eye on Faraday for at least the time being. Shifting his grip on Faraday’s hand, he raises it to his lips and brushes a flurry of kisses over the knuckles. “Joshua, I don’t want you out my sight any more than you apparently want me out of yours. I’d like nothing better than to have you around, guero.”

Faraday’s answering smile is shyer than the ones Vasquez is used to seeing from him and somehow all the more precious because of that. “Thanks. I – thanks.”

Smiling softly in return, Vasquez takes a step backward and then another, using their clasped hands to tentatively pull Faraday along with him. “Come on, mijo. Lie down with me.”

Faraday follows easily enough, only balking when they reach the side of the bed and Vasquez maneuvers them around so that it’s Faraday who’s got his back to it. “Sit, Joshua” Vasquez says firmly, pressing down on the man’s shoulders until he does as instructed. In a role reversal of their positions from this morning, Vasquez curls his fingers over Faraday’s vest and deftly starts undoing the buttons. “You can’t sleep like this. You’re overdressed.”

“It’s alright, I’ve got it.” His hand closing over Vasquez’s, Faraday finishes the rest of the buttons and then shrugs out of his vest. His shirt follows soon after, and he leans down to tug off his boots. Once that’s accomplished, he leans back with a sigh and gazes up at Vasquez through half-lidded eyes. “That better?”

“Sí,” Vasquez hums and reaches up to shrug out of his borrowed shirt. “It’s no fun sleeping in this much clothing if it can be avoided.”

Eventually free of all the items he’s got no desire to wear to bed, Vasquez gives Faraday a thoughtful look before settling himself on the man’s lap. Large hands come up to rest atop his hips, sitting there like a kind of quiet assurance that things are better now, and he lets his own hands travel over the plains of Faraday’s chest, tracing the bullet scars adorning it with one finger.

“I thought about this,” he admits quietly, his tone hushed. “About escaping somehow and coming to find you. I had some half-hearted notion in my head – more hope than anything else – that we could try again, this time without all the running away on both our parts.”

Faraday catches the hand that’s prodding at his scars with one of his own. Bringing it up, he places a kiss in the centre of Vasquez’s palm, his warm breath ghosting over the skin and sending a shiver down Vasquez’s spine. “No more runnin’ away,” he says, the words coming out as a promise.

“No running,” Vasquez agrees. Curling his hands around Faraday’s neck, he tilts the other man’s head up to meet him and ducks in for a kiss, basking in the way Faraday just opens for him as their mouths meet. He keeps that up, flicking his tongue out briefly, and only pulling back so that he can place a trail of kisses along the underside of Faraday’s jaw, nipping and nuzzling as he goes.

“Vas,” Faraday groans finally, “not that I’m complainin’, but I meant it when I said I don’t think I’m up for much more than sleepin’. I know that sounds ridiculous considerin’ how all we’ve done today is eat and sleep, but …”

“Sí, I know,” Vasquez replies, pulling back reluctantly. “Whatever you want is fine.” He adds, letting out an abbreviated yelp when Faraday apparently takes this as permission to radically alter their positions and rolls him onto his back. “Guero, some warning would be nice!”

Faraday chuckles as he props himself up on one elbow, looming over Vasquez in a way that should feel claustrophobic yet instead feels anything but. “Y’know, I like that medallion of yours much better when it’s back in its proper place,” he says apropos of nothing, twisting the cord around one of his fingers. “Didn’t much like wearnin’ it myself.”

There are a whole host of feelings lurking in those words that Vasquez suspects he’s going to have to unpack at some point. For now, however, he decides not to push and tugs the necklace free of Faraday’s grasp. “I appreciate your keeping it safe for me,” he says, which is true.

“It ain’t the only thing I’d like to keep safe,” Faraday admits, lowering himself down so that he’s resting alongside Vasquez with one arm curled protectively over his chest. “I’ve gotten pretty used of havin’ you around, muchacho. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“So would I,” Vasquez tells him bluntly. He wriggles around on the mattress to get more comfortable, letting out a pleased noise when he finds a spot he likes best. “I have gotten pretty used to you period, guero.”

Faraday smiles sweetly at him even as his cheeks take on a pink hue. “So we’re really goin’ to do this then? You and me?”

“Me and you,” Vasquez affirms. “Or rather, me and you and the other five who seem determined to tag along no matter what anyone says.”

“Let ‘em,” Faraday says with an easy shrug. “They’re decent company.”

Vasquez makes an agreeable noise and burrows more firmly into Faraday’s warmth. There are few people he knows who have as much bulk as he himself does, even with the weight he’s lost from his time in the compound, but Faraday has all that and more. It’s comforting.

“Talk to me?” He asks after the silence has stretched on for a little too long. While he is tired, he’s slept enough already today that he’s not going to drift off again anytime soon. At the same time, however, he doesn’t like the idea of lying around with nothing to distract him in the event that unpleasant thoughts start intruding on the night.

“What about?” Faraday asks. If he thinks the request is odd, he doesn’t let it show.

“Anything.” Vasquez replies just wanting to hear the sound of the other man’s voice.

Faraday’s quiet for long enough that Vasquez is concerned he shouldn’t have asked, but then he snorts and brushes a kiss over his shoulder. “Want to hear about how Red asked me to teach him some card tricks?”

“He did not,” Vasquez says, trying and failing to visualize this.

“Oh he most certainly did,” Faraday laughs. “It happened like this …”

Faraday launches into a story that will no doubt prove to be heavily embellished, while Vasquez lays back and lets the words wash over him as he waits for sleep to claim him.

*****

Faraday wakes with the sight of a swinging noose flashing before his eyes and the sound of a trapdoor opening ringing in his hears. He shoots up in the bed, momentarily disoriented when what little he can see isn’t what he’s expecting, gasping raggedly when everything comes rushing back to him.

The compound. Rask. _Vasquez_.

It was real, he tells himself. It happened. They’d set out to free Vasquez from captivity and they’d succeeded. He was safe and here and alive.

Except knowing that suddenly isn’t enough. Faraday needs to see him. No, more than that, he needs to touch him. Flailing around a little, he gropes blindly for the lamp that Vasquez had blown out shortly after they’d climbed into bed, only stopping when he determines his wild tossing is likely to wake poor Vasquez up, which is the last thing the man needs. Candle light is out of the question also, it’ll be too bright, and he’ll have to get up and climb over Vasquez to find the damn lamp anyway, which isn’t a good idea.

He’s still sitting rigidly in place when it hits him; this room is laid out differently than the one he’s been staying in during their stint in town. While the window in his own room is on the wall opposite from the bed, here they’re right next to each other. Reaching up, he feels around until his searching fingers snag on rough, homespun cloth. Once he’s found it, he yanks first in one direction and then the other until he finds the one that will allow the curtain to move, not stopping until he’s pulled one side all the way back.

Moonlight streams into the room, telling him that it’s still the middle of the night, nowhere near morning. The time isn’t important; however, what is important is that there’s now enough light to illuminate Vasquez’s sleeping form, curled up on his side of the bed with his face pressed into a pillow and one arm folded up underneath his stomach. Faraday’s heart clenches at the sight of him before finally starting to beat normally again.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, the words whispered into the night like a prayer. Hunching forward, he pulls his knees up to his chest and hooks his arms underneath them, curling in on himself to try and avoid grabbing at Vasquez like he desperately wants to. Vasquez needs to sleep, he tells himself sternly. He needs rest in order to heal, so he can’t have Faraday pawing at him in the wee hours of the morning, especially not for something as foolish as a silly nightmare.

That doesn’t mean Faraday can’t look at him, though, that much he can do to his heart’s content. Craning his neck to the side, he peers down at the man sleeping next to him, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. Struck with a sudden flash of brilliance, he tries to match his own breathing to Vasquez’s, letting the slow rhythm build up in his lungs until he’s no longer panting like someone who’s just covered several miles at a flat run.

He loses track of how long he stays like that, and it’s not until Vasquez twitches slightly in his sleep, letting out a small noise that cuts off as quickly as it starts, that Faraday sits up straighter. The noise hadn’t been a happy one, and if it turns into anything more he’s going to deal with it.

A minute ticks by with no movement from Vasquez, then another then the twitching starts up again, sending Vasquez shifting around until he’s lying on his back, and the cry he lets out is far sharper than the previous one. Refusing to sit back and let that continue for a second longer than it has to, Faraday rolls over onto his side so that he can wrap an arm around Vasquez and pull him in close.

“S’okay,” he murmurs, nosing at Vasquez’s temple as the man starts to wriggle in his hold. “S’okay, sweetheart. It’s just me, it’s Joshua. You’re safe. I’m not goin’ to let anythin’ happen to you.”

It’s almost funny, in an awful kind of way, the thought of the two of them reclined side by side, each one caught up in the horrors of what they’ve been through. Faraday has to fight back a sudden urge to laugh, and instead concentrates on getting Vasquez’s attention. “You’re alright, darlin’, I promise. Just wake up for me, yeah?”

When Vasquez does wake, it’s with a startled yelp and a flinch that Faraday suspects would have turned into a swung fist if he weren’t pinning the man to the mattress with his own body weight. “Easy, easy,” he stresses, pressing Vasquez more tightly against his chest as he runs his free hand over the man’s back in slow, soothing circles. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re fine. We’re both fine. It’s over.”

Vasquez goes horribly stiff for a moment, and then it’s like all the air just up and heaves out of him. He lets out a deep shuddering breath, all but melting into Faraday’s side. “Joshua?” He asks after a moment, his voice faint.

“That’s me,” Faraday replies. His own troubles are all but forgotten in the face of the sudden pressing need to do away with whatever unpleasantness has seen fit to plague Vasquez’s sleep. “We’re in the boarding house from earlier. Sam and the rest of the boys are right down the hall, and ain’t nothin’ gettin’ to you without havin’ to go through every last one of us first.”

He thinks about how the others had been making noise earlier about travelling out to Rose Creek for a little rest and relaxation. Faraday doesn’t care what it takes – he’s going to convince Vasquez that’s a good idea come hell or high water. They’re going to need the backup for the foreseeable future, not to mention a safe place for Vasquez to recuperate.

Although, that’s a thought for another time. Right now he’s faced with the much more important task of banishing Vasquez’s current troubles. “You want to talk about it?” He asks, moving his hand from Vasquez’s back to stroke it through his hair.

“Absolutamente no,” Vasquez insists, the words coming out quick and clipped.

Faraday doesn’t need to speak a lick of Spanish to recognize a refusal when he hears one. “Okay, that’s fine. You don’t have to. Whatever you want.”

Vasquez is quiet for a long moment, then he huffs out a sigh and starts to pull away. “Lo siento, guero. I did not mean to wake you.”

“I was already up.” Faraday tells him. He tightens his grip so that Vasquez can’t move back to his side of the bed. “Been that way for a while now. You ain’t the only one havin’ bad dreams. Also, stop squirmin’, I like you where you are, thanks.”

Vasquez freezes, his entire body locking up in a way that’s distinctly unpleasant, before he slowly relaxes. He makes a few tentative movements as he shuffles back into the circle of Faraday’s arms, and there’s an awkward minute spent arranging themselves to their satisfaction until they wind up with Faraday lying on his back, Vasquez mostly on top of him with his head pillowed on his chest.

“That’s better,” Faraday says, relieved. He knows this position is going to get uncomfortable fast, even half-starved as he is Vasquez weighs more than enough to be tough to have there all night, but he can’t bring himself to care. In fact, he suspects it’ll be a long, long time before he gets tired of having Vasquez within arm’s reach. “You just stay right here.”

He feels it as Vasquez snorts, his harsh breath gusting out around the column of Faraday’s throat. “And you’ll chase the nightmares away, sí?”

“Sí,” Faraday replies. He doesn’t say what else he’s thinking, that Vasquez is probably going to have to do his own share of nightmare banishing where Faraday is concerned, but he suspects he doesn’t need to. Tilting his head forward, he brushes a kiss into Vasquez’s hair, ignoring the way the terrible angle makes his neck crack as he repeats the motion several times.

“Go back to sleep, Vas. I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it folks, another monster done and dusted. Thank you so much to everyone who's read and commented and left kudos along the way. I'm honestly blown away by the reception this fic has gotten, you're all amazing! <333

**Author's Note:**

> A quick note on posting schedule. While I am 100% going to finish this fic, and am well on my towards doing so there's not going to be a set schedule with this one. It's all coming, I promise, I just can't give you guys exact dates this time thanks to real life commitments.


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